Left Behind
by SabaceanBabe
Summary: John Crichton and Chiana have been left on the dying Leviathan Rohvu. Kaarvok has been defeated, but that's only their first step toward survival...
1. Chapter One

Left Behind  
  
Timeline placement: earlyish season 3, spoilers for "Eat Me"  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has  
been or will be collected.  
  
Chapter One  
  
"Oh, God."  
  
John Crichton watched in shock as the transport pod shot away from the disintegrating Leviathan as if all the hounds of hell were in swift pursuit. "I can't believe they just left me..." He slumped back against the crumbling doorway, not even flinching as a chunk of something heavy fell with a ponderous thud to his left, narrowly missing him.  
  
In fact, pieces of the dying Rohvu were falling all around him. Smoke obscured his view as his eyes traveled randomly from one bright shower of sparks or flame to the next in the burgeoning inferno that had once been a Leviathan's hangar.  
  
The realization came to him that he was going to die here. "You left me." An animal cry tore from his throat.  
  
"Crichton! Is that you?"  
  
"Chi!" The terrified sound of her voice broke through his momentary despair. Chiana? He had just watched her leave on the transport pod!  
  
He whirled around, stepping out into the corridor outside the smoke- filled hangar, and saw her just a few feet away, clutching at one of Rohvu's ribs as if her life depended on it. There was blue blood on her stomach – still wet, from the way her tunic glistened in the weirdly strobing light – and a dark bruise on her jaw. Her eyes were wide black pools.  
  
She took a tentative step toward him, her left hand still maintaining contact with the Leviathan, the right reaching toward Crichton, pointing at the hangar. He didn't see the weapon she had been carrying earlier.  
  
"Did I...Did I just see the transport leave?"  
  
"Yup." He didn't feel particularly eloquent at the moment, so he just left it at that.  
  
"Those fekkiks left us?" Her voice became a little louder. "They frelling left us here to...die?"  
  
Looking back at the hangar, knowing that there was no other way off the Leviathan, who was still struggling to starburst past the interference of the control collar, he said, "We are not gonna die, Pip." His voice carried a bitter determination. Closing the gap between them, he grabbed her by the arm which was still pointing toward the hangar. "C'mon."  
  
She stumbled as he pulled her along behind him, but he didn't slow down. If they didn't get back to the Pilot's den and stop Rohvu from starburst, then they were done. We're probably dead already, he thought, as another piece of pus-covered bulkhead skittered across the floor in front of them as they ran. Hell, at least there was no sign of those pitiful – but way-too-dangerous – Xarai.  
  
Chiana was uncharacteristically silent as they skidded to a halt, their passage blocked by one of the Leviathan's ribs. It had actually broken away from the wall and lay at an angle over the door to the den, a thick, wet coppery liquid oozing from the parts that had once been attached.  
  
"Frell." He let go of Chi's hand and, hesitating for just an instant, gagging, grasped the obstruction, attempting to at least move it away from the door controls. They had to get that door open...  
  
It was too heavy. "Chi, honey, gimme a hand here." She just looked at him from empty black eyes, uncomprehending. "Chiana!" he shouted. "Help me move this thing!"  
  
Moving as though in a dream, Chiana planted her shoulder under the upper edge of the rib and heaved, letting loose a squeal composed of equal parts anger and fear as she did so. Combining his efforts with hers, Crichton shoved for all he was worth. The rib moved. They were unable to lift it entirely out of the way, but they did move it enough that it slid the rest of the way to the floor under its own weight.  
  
They heard wordless voices behind them as a group of three Xarai came toward them, hunger etched into every line of their bodies.  
  
"Crichton..."  
  
"I see 'em, Chi." Reaching over the rib, he slammed one hand into the door control and aimed Winona at them with the other, firing. The door opened as one of the Xarai fell, her companions pausing and then apparently deciding that the meat suddenly at hand was easier than that which scrambled over the blockage and into the room beyond.  
  
Chiana, looking a bit wild-eyed, pounded her fist on the door control inside the den as Crichton dashed across a catwalk toward the dead Pilot and the controls to the ship. He ignored the heap of cloth and...other things...just beyond the control console. It was harder to ignore the half- dozen or so Xarai, loudly devouring something nearby.  
  
"Chiana! Get over here and take Winona!"  
  
One eye toward the preoccupied Xarai, he vaulted up onto the console, trying to reverse the starburst sequence before the ship completely fell apart around them. They could worry about putting out fires – literally and figuratively – once starburst had been aborted.  
  
Several things happened at once. Crichton hit the last control in the reverse sequence and they could hear the welcome sound of starburst winding down. Chiana squeaked, startled, as the Pilot jerked upright when she jumped up onto the console, reaching for Crichton's pulse pistol. The sound of pounding and scratching came to them from at least two other entrances to the den.  
  
The Human and the Nebari looked at each other. Not a word was said as Chiana opened fire on the Xarai huddled over their feast. Crichton reached toward the harpoon sticking out of Pilot's carapace. He had to make sure the creature he had thought was dead didn't die on them now. He had to get through to him, make him understand that they could help each other.  
  
"Pilot, are you with us? Can you hear me?" Their only hope was to get Pilot to seal the den and vent the rest of the ship into space.  
  
Pilot focused his terrified eyes on Crichton.  
  
Fists pounded on the doors, not yet having found their way to pounding on the door controls.  
  
"Oh, God." 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
"Harvey, not now!" John Crichton snarled between clenched teeth. "This is not a good time!"  
  
Why did the frelling neural clone always pick the damnedest times to show up? John wondered as he continued to try to get through to the terrified Pilot. In a psychotic sort of way, he was lucky the Xarai had eaten the poor guy's arms, otherwise he would have flung John right off the control console and into the abyss that formed the majority of the den. Course, that would probably be a more comfortable fate than that promised by the pounding fists that could be heard at way too many entrances to the vast room.  
  
"Did you say something, Cr-Crichton?" Chiana still sounded scared, but she stood firm, pointing Winona at first one closed door then another, as the sound of the heaviest pounding shifted. Having taken out six of the cannibalistic Xarai – he prayed those six were the only ones in the room – she was more than ready to vent a bit more of her terror at those still waiting in the wings.  
  
"Well, John, are you going to answer her?" Harvey's voice near his left shoulder made him swing at the specter in an attempt to banish him. It didn't work, though. It never did. Placing one hopefully reassuring hand on Pilot's heaving shoulder, John looked over his own at the clone. He about choked with hysterical laughter when he saw Harvey's get-up this time – gerry curls, mirrored sunglasses, a big-shouldered jacket and one sequined glove – and realized that Michael Jackson's Thriller was playing somewhere in the back of his mind.  
  
Hoping that Chi wouldn't make the connection between his first words and the reappearance of Harvey, he played off his lapse. "Uh, yeah. We've got to get Pilot here to seal us off and vent the rest of the ship."  
  
"Vent the...the Xarai into space?"  
  
A grunt of humorless laughter escaped him as he replied, "Yeah. Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out." What the hell was he turning into?  
  
He felt a light tap on his shoulder, which he tried to ignore.  
  
"John, John, John." Now Harvey sounded as if he were speaking to a child. A slow child. "John, don't you think the Peacekeepers that remained trapped on this Leviathan would've tried that, had it been a real option?" The ghoul with one sequined glove shook his head. "This Leviathan can't do that sort of thing while he's wearing a control collar. Don't you know anything?"  
  
"I dunno nothin' 'bout birthin' no babies..." John muttered. "Shit."  
  
"What's the matter now?" Chiana hadn't been privy to his more-or- less internal conversation.  
  
"I think we're going to have to get the control collar off Rohvu before we can deal with the rest of his, uh, passengers."  
  
"How do we – how do we do that?"  
  
"Lemme think. Just gimme a minute to think." Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen, with the pounding on the doors and the glittering light of the disco ball Harvey seemed to have brought with him, not to mention poor Pilot, moaning incoherently. John sat on the surface of the console, running the fingers of both hands through his hair, surprised it wasn't already standing on end.  
  
"You could always ask the Pilot, you know," Harvey suggested. "Poor bugger's had nothing but time on his hands to think, when he's had hands, that is."  
  
Chiana wasn't sure if Crichton was talking to her or to Pilot when he asked, "Where are the main controls to the collar?"  
  
Pilot's den seemed to fade around him, the room taken over completely by the smoky atmosphere of an 80s disco. "Just a guess, John, but I really don't think the controls're in here, where Pilot could have set his DRDs to the task of removing 'em," Harvey replied.  
  
John stood and walked across the floor, black and white tiles lighting up under each foot as he took a step, going dark as he moved on to the next, advancing on the neural clone. Backing the irritating clone into a wall, John adjusted the collar of his bright red shirt so that it was standing straight up, brushing against his hair. "Harvey. Shut. Up."  
  
"I'm just tryin' to help, Johnny." The Sebacean-Scarran hybrid was the picture of wide-eyed innocence.  
  
Another moan from Pilot broke through John's hallucination, snapping him back to the unpleasant reality of his – their – current situation. He shifted to his knees and leaned toward the frightened creature. Placing both hands on Pilot's face, he leaned in closer, resting his forehead against Pilot's. "Pilot, listen to me."  
  
Enormous orange eyes locked onto intense blue ones. Pilot said nothing, but he did stop moaning and he did stop struggling.  
  
"Pilot," John repeated.  
  
"Yes?" The word was tentative, barely audible above the other noises. At least the Thriller soundtrack had gone silent.  
  
"Pilot, I'm John. My friend here is Chiana."  
  
Chiana threw a still panicky look over at Pilot and said, in an attempt at her usual cocky voice, "Pleased to meet you, Pilot," before returning her attention to guarding their perimeter.  
  
"We're going to get through this, Pilot, but you have to help us. Do you understand?"  
  
The Human was relieved when Pilot nodded his agreement. "What do you want me to do, John? Rohvu and I have no DRDs. They were all destroyed cycles ago by Kaarvok and the Xarai."  
  
"That's okay, Pilot," John reassured him, even though that wasn't okay at all. "I need you to tell me where the master controls to Rohvu's control collar are. We have to get the control collar off him."  
  
"We have tried, John." Pilot sounded despairing.  
  
"I know you and Rohvu can't do it yourselves, Pilot, but if you can tell us where to go, Chi and I can get it off." Hell, if D'Argo could do it for Moya, without a clue as to what he was doing, he and Chiana ought to be able to figure it out. Right?  
  
Pilot took a deep, shuddering breath, then said, "The master controls are in Command."  
  
Makes sense, John thought. "Pip, I need you to stay here with Pilot."  
  
"Huh uh! No way, Crichton. You're not leaving me here!" She shook her head violently.  
  
"Somebody's got to stay here and keep Pilot safe. You stay here with Winona. I'm going up to Command and see if I can figure out how to disable that collar."  
  
"How – How're you gonna do that? Do you even know what...what the frelling thing looks like?"  
  
"I've got an idea, yeah." He didn't, really, but he was pretty sure his constant companion did. Harvey didn't want to die on this insane ship any more than John did.  
  
"What do I do if the Xarai break through?"  
  
"Shoot 'em." With that flippant answer, John rolled off the console onto a catwalk. He felt naked without Winona, but Chi needed her more than he did right now. He'd find something he could use as a weapon while he made his way up to Command.  
  
He hoped. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three  
  
"Chiana..." Pilot's somewhat shaky voice was barely audible above the pounding on the doors.  
  
"Ye...yeah, Pilot?" the young and frightened Nebari responded. She was standing on Pilot's control console, feet planted firmly between some of his currently useless controls and being careful not to step on any of them.  
  
"Do you think your companion will make it to Command?" The terror and despair in his voice made Chiana turn her attention to him, looking into his wide orange eyes. She had never heard such a tone in Pilot's voice back on Moya, even during their worst times.  
  
"Yeah, I do." She was surprised to realize that she honestly did believe Crichton would make it. "Crichton's really lucky, you see. He always...always lands on his feet." Her attention shifted back to the door through which her friend had gone just a quarter arn earlier. "He'll make it, Pilot. He has to."  
  
Particularly violent pounding at another door brought her attention – and Crichton's Winona – to bear, just as the door slid open.  
  
"Chiana!" Pilot's voice was urgent, this time.  
  
"I see 'em, Pilot!" she shouted, firing the pulse pistol at two dirty, disheveled Xarai. Their random pounding – at least, she hoped that it was random, not wanting to think about them actually knowing how the doors worked – had apparently found those door controls. As she continued to fire, hitting one of them between the eyes but missing the other, she leaped from the control console to the catwalk and sprinted, still firing, to get the frelling door closed again.  
  
***  
  
The corridor heading more or less in the right direction to reach Command had been devoid of Xarai when John had opened the door and ventured out into the distressed Leviathan.  
  
The first thing that hit him was the smell. Closing the door behind him, he shook his head, trying to clear it of the fumes that assailed him. Looking down, he saw piles of bone and rotting flesh intermingled with Human – Sebacean – feces. He gagged and forced his way through, carefully stepping around the smelly hazards to navigation, just as carefully forcing his mind to consider them just that – hazards to navigation.  
  
John made his way as quietly and cautiously as he could, doing his best not to attract unwanted attention to his unarmed ass, but still, rounding the third corner, he nearly tripped over a Xarai female relieving herself in the corner created by one of Rohvu's ribs. They were both surprised, and John was able to knock her out with a quick blow to the head before she could alert any others who might be nearby to his presence.  
  
A quick search of the unconscious woman and the surrounding area turned up nothing he could use as a weapon. Damn. He kept going, he had no idea for how long, following the twists and turns of the corridors, transitioning between tiers.  
  
Transitioning between one tier and the next, the last transition, he thought, John found his way blocked by three Xarai right in the middle of his path – two male and one female. One of the males watched, apparently waiting his turn, as the other...uh, recreated...with the female. Everything stopped when John appeared. All eyes locked on him.  
  
"Hey, kids, don't mind me. I'm just passin' through." Not paying attention to a word John said – the old translator microbes must not stand up to repeated twinning – the Xarai who had been waiting his turn stood up and began to come toward the Human, intentions clearly violent.  
  
Looking to his left, then his right, John spotted the only thing he had seen so far that could even remotely work as a weapon – a rather large femur. Clamping down on nausea, he grabbed one end – thank God it had been picked clean – and swung it at the head of his attacker.  
  
The knobby end of the femur connected with the man's temple with a sickening thud and the Xarai dropped like a stone. The other two had gone back to what they had been doing before. John leaped over them, still hanging onto his makeshift club, running through the corridor, heedless of any living obstacles in his path.  
  
Finally, he stopped running, hanging onto the edge of a doorway to steady himself as he allowed his heart rate and breathing to return to some semblance of normality.  
  
Focusing on his surroundings, he realized that he was getting close to the area in which he and Chi had watched Kaarvok murder D'Argo, which he had to go through in order to reach Command. Holding his breath, he listened intently for sounds of pursuit. He heard nothing. He let out the breath he had been holding and accidentally took a deep breath to refill his lungs. John realized, not without being a little grossed out, that he had gotten used to the smell that permeated the ship.  
  
Taking a better grip on his club – it's just a frelling club, nothing more! – John set off on the last leg of the harrowing trip, praying that Command would not house any more Xarai and wishing – in a cowardly way – that the Xarai had left the area and taken D'Argo's corpse with them.  
  
"Shit. Why don't my wishes ever come true?" he asked himself, as he rounded a corner only to be confronted with a living Xarai female and the dead bodies of both D'Argo and Chiana. He had managed to forget that Chi had been twinned and that one of her had been...harvested, as the other ran off.  
  
Avoiding Chiana's dead, sightless eyes, he watched in horrified fascination as the blonde Xarai tried repeatedly to wake D'Argo, poking him in the ribs and on the shoulder.  
  
"Ain't gonna happen, missy," he said to her. Whether she understood him or not, he didn't know, but she did stop prodding D'Argo's shoulder and whirled around to look at him, crouched and ready to spring.  
  
He raised the club, ready to defend himself, but she didn't attack. Instead, she stood, raising her arms, palms out, in a gesture of supplication. She said something to him, but it didn't seem to be in any language his translator microbes were familiar with. It was guttural and sounded vaguely like Sebacean, only...not.  
  
"I don't know what you're saying, but I won't hurt you if you don't try to hurt me." In a cautious good-faith gesture, he lowered the club. She pointed to D'Argo, looking at him with pleading eyes.  
  
"He's dead. There isn't anything I can do for him," he told her, shaking his head. He wished otherwise – D'Argo alive would be a really welcome sight right about now. Looking beyond his friend, he saw D's Qualta blade lying on the floor nearby.  
  
Moving slowly around the Xarai woman, not taking his eyes off her, he moved over to the Qualta and knelt, picking it up. "D, man, I wish you were here, but I'll take any help I can get."  
  
The girl hadn't moved, except to watch him as he passed her. He took the risk of taking his full attention off her and turning it instead to the blade he held in his hands. He shifted the club from his hand to under his arm, holding it against his ribs as he examined the Qualta.  
  
D'Argo had shown him how to work it, even allowing him to fire it a couple of times. This one, though, didn't seem to be equal and original, as Kaarvok had claimed of the twinned Sebaceans – of course, he had already seen enough to put the lie to that claim, anyway. It looked like this one would work just fine as a sword, but not as a rifle.  
  
Whatever. A huge fucking sword in the hand beat a femur upside the head, any day. He dropped his club and, with a glance back at the girl, who was still standing near D'Argo's body, he headed on toward Command.  
  
He ran into no other Xarai on his way to Command, but John did become aware, after a few minutes, that the girl had abandoned D'Argo to follow him. She was keeping her distance, though, and didn't seem to mean him any harm.  
  
John breathed a sigh of relief when the next turn took him to the open door of Command. Moving slowly forward, he stopped just outside and peered in. There were four Xarai immediately visible, sleeping in a pile near the main console.  
  
He quietly crept into the room, sword at the ready, looking as near to all directions at once as he could. There were two more Xarai asleep just around the corner from the door, but that seemed to be it. Six, huh? With a glance at the sword and a deep breath, he flung himself toward the largest group of Xarai, hoping he could kill them before the other two could reach him, wishing he didn't have to kill them at all.  
  
It was over quickly, with little resistance. He turned to face the other two, who couldn't have possibly slept through his attack, the Qualta slipping a bit in his grasp.  
  
He was still breathing hard, adrenalin pumping through his veins, ready for a fight when he realized that it was indeed over. The Xarai female who had followed him had picked up the "club" he had dropped and used it on the other two. Seeing the mess she had made of their heads, making the connection to the slipperiness of the Qualta's hilt in his hands, John dropped the blade to the floor and sank to his knees, vomiting helplessly.  
  
***  
  
The pounding at the doors had stopped about a half arn ago, but still Chiana could not relax. Relaxing would be a very bad idea. Just because the Xarai seemed to have lost interest in Pilot's den for now, didn't mean they wouldn't be back.  
  
She sat on Pilot's console, Winona cradled in her arms, while Pilot, she thought, might be asleep behind her. "Come on, Crichton," she said softly to herself, not wanting to wake Pilot if he really was able to let his guard down enough to sleep. She didn't think the poor guy had been able to get much sleep in the past few cycles, according to the things he had told her. "You...you've gotta come back."  
  
"Pip, are you there?" Crichton's voice came from the console, somewhere near her left boot, making her jump.  
  
"Crichton!" she screamed, no longer in any way worried about waking Pilot, who was now yelling incoherently, startled into wakefulness by Crichton's voice. He would've been flinging his arms around, too, she thought as she laughed hysterically, if the Xarai hadn't eaten them.  
  
"Come on, Pip, answer me." Crichton sounded a little frazzled.  
  
"Pilot, what do I do? How do I get him to hear me?" She looked at the controls on the console but didn't have a clue which one to press to open the ship's internal comms to a two-way conversation.  
  
"What? I don't..." Pilot didn't really sound like he knew which one to press either.  
  
"Which control works the comms, Pilot?" she shouted at him as Crichton's voice sounded again.  
  
"Chiana, dammit, answer me!"  
  
"Push the green button next to the speaker, Chiana," Pilot said. "I think that's the right one. It's been so long since there has been anyone here to communicate with..."  
  
She jammed her hand down onto the control. "I'm here, Crichton!"  
  
"Thank God! Chiana, we're in Command. Pilot, do you know off hand what the control collar controls look like?"  
  
Chiana's eyes widened. "You said you knew what to look for!"  
  
"I lied. Pilot?"  
  
"I do not know what the controls look like," Pilot sounded apologetic. "I have never seen them."  
  
She heard Crichton swear in his native language, then, "All right. I'll figure something out. What?"  
  
"We didn't say anything, Old Man."  
  
"Jesus, will you shut up, Har—" Crichton cut himself off. "Wait a second. I think we – I think I found it."  
  
"Who's 'we,' Crichton?" Chiana asked.  
  
"Um, frell." He hesitated, then said, "A Xarai chick helped me out, I don't know why."  
  
"You're fahrbot, Crichton! Crichton...John...please, don't trust her. Don't...don't get yourself killed, okay?" She was close to tears. "I need you alive, okay?"  
  
"I'm not gonna get myself killed, Chi. Hey, you and Pilot work on figuring out the controls to seal off his den and vent the rest of the ship to space. I and, uh, Raquel here'll take out this control collar and head back to you."  
  
"Crichton." He didn't respond. "Crichton!" Still nothing. "You frellnik!" She pounded a fist on the console. "You turned off the comms, didn't you?"  
  
***  
  
"Yes, John, this is the one," Harvey said, pointing at a black, white, and red console a few feet away from the one John knew to be the main ship's controls. The neural clown was dressed up like something out of that cheesy movie One Million BC, or whatever it was called, to go along with his Raquel Welch reference to the Xarai girl.  
  
John walked over to the console. "All right, pal, you say these are the right controls... Prove it. Which ones release that collar?"  
  
"I can't tell you that, pal. I, as a Peacekeeper, can't give away our secrets to just anyone, you know."  
  
"Quit with the crap, Harv. You're no more a Peacekeeper than I am. And if I die here, you die here. Now, which controls?"  
  
He watched as Harvey seemed to deflate. "I honestly don't know, John. Scorpius was never on a Leviathan to find out which controls would be used."  
  
"Then how do you know this is the right console?"  
  
"I've seen schematics. It looks like the right one."  
  
"Shit." John closed his eyes, trying to recall his very first minutes on this side of the universe. Minutes filled with confusion and shouting and fear and a Luxan in hyperrage, tearing out cables and wires at random. His memory seemed to confirm the location and look of the console Harvey claimed was the right one, but he wasn't sure how reliable his memory of that day was. It could just be wishful thinking.  
  
What the hell, he thought, if I can't get that collar off Rohvu, we're dead anyway. Since there were no loose wires waiting to be yanked, he lifted his sword and brought it down hard in the center of the console. There was a shower of sparks as the blade did its work, parting the covering to the console like a knife through butter, exposing all sorts of wires and cables.  
  
Before pulling any of them, hoping that just smashing the console might do the trick, he went back to the main console and turned the comms back on. "Pilot, man, I don't suppose you and Rohvu can tell whether or not that collar's off...?"  
  
There was a short pause, during which John imagined Pilot was relaying his question to the Leviathan.  
  
"No, Crichton, the collar is still functioning."  
  
Oh, well, time to pull some wires. With a glance over at the girl, verifying that she was still not a threat, he returned to the loose wires and started pulling. Having left the comms channel open, he said, "Pilot, you guys make sure you let me know as soon as anything changes."  
  
"We will," Pilot affirmed. John was glad to hear that the poor guy's voice was getting stronger and steadier each time he heard it. Hope was an amazing thing.  
  
After about the fourth wire yanked, John heard the words he most wanted to hear, just then.  
  
"You did it!" Pilot sounded excited. "The control collar is breaking free!"  
  
"Yee haw!" John shouted jubilantly! Not wasting a minute, he grabbed Raquel's hand and the Qualta blade and started running back toward the den. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
"Pilot!" John Crichton roared as he burst into Pilot's den without warning, dragging a blonde creature behind him. "Seal off this room now!"  
  
When Pilot didn't react immediately, Crichton slammed his hand against the controls of the door he had just come through. There was a thud as a body hit the door only a microt after it closed, making Chiana jump even more than she had when Crichton's shouting had startled her out of her troubled thoughts.  
  
Crichton vaulted onto the console. "Pilot, man, you gotta wake up!" The pounding had started in again on the doors, or at least on the one which Crichton had just locked behind him. "If they get in here...ain't no way we'll be able to take 'em out." He grabbed Pilot by both sides of his head. "Tell us which controls to operate, Pilot." His voice was softer, almost gentle compared to the urgency he had used at first. "Chi and I can handle it if you just give us a little guidance."  
  
"Uh, yeah, Pilot," she shook her head to clear it of the fog her brain seemed to be shrouded in. "Tell us what to do." She glanced sideways at the blonde girl – barely Sebacean anymore, more like a frightened animal – standing nervously in front of the console.  
  
"I—" Pilot visibly pulled himself together and began again. "I will...illuminate the controls in the proper order. As they light, depress them."  
  
"No levers, Pilot?" Chiana asked. "Just the...the...the buttons?" The console was covered with buttons, large and small, as well as the odd lever or switch. All were contained within separate panels, which she supposed indicated some sort of separation between tasks. Good thing there were relatively large spaces between the panels or she and Crichton could've been setting off all sorts of unwanted actions just by sitting on or tripping over the controls.  
  
"No, Chiana, only a few of the...buttons...are necessary to seal the passageways to this room and to open the outer doors to space."  
  
She looked at Crichton. "Are you sure we want to...to space 'em all?" The Nebari girl was extremely uncomfortable with the thought of killing so many people and she couldn't believe that Crichton wanted to do this, either. The look on his face surprised her, though. She had never seen him look so hard or so determined.  
  
"Trust me, Pip. We want to do this." His voice was grim. Something had brought him to this...murderous...decision in the arns he had been out in the rest of the ship. Chi decided she didn't really want to know what he had seen.  
  
That frelling pounding was now coming from what sounded like all of the entrances to the den, as though all the other Xarai on board had been awakened by the ones that had chased Crichton and his...his pet between Command and here.  
  
Chiana's attention was caught by a large red button by her gun hand that had begun to glow. She pushed it and there was an audible click that reverberated around the cavernous room, echoing back to them from all of the doors simultaneously. The pseudo-Sebacean girl whimpered and sidled closer to where Crichton was still crouched on the opposite side of the console from Chi.  
  
"That's it, Chiana," Pilot said, encouragingly, "you have sealed off this room."  
  
"That's...that's it? Just the one button? Why couldn't we have just done that before?" she complained, watching in distaste as the little tralk moved closer to Crichton, clinging to his leg.  
  
"Kaarvok changed the settings on the control collar. His modifications prevented Rohvu or myself – or the Peacekeepers, in the beginning, before they...deteriorated – from doing anything to protect ourselves or the other inhabitants."  
  
"Friggin' headcase..." Crichton muttered as he freed his leg from the girl's clutches. Chiana wasn't sure if he was talking about Kaarvok or the leech. "All right, Pilot. If we're sealed in, as in airtight, then I think we're ready to vent the rest of the ship."  
  
***  
  
It felt like waking from a too-deep sleep. Rohvu had blotted out his own awareness for so many cycles that he was experiencing something very like physical pain as his systems slowly came back to life – his many internal wounds had been with him for so long that he no longer felt that pain. He experienced the now-alien sensation of commands coming from his Pilot, following circuitry to reach his own awareness. He felt the oh-so- welcome pain of the control collar breaking away from his outer skin.  
  
And now... Now he was receiving a command to seal his Pilot's chamber and then open his outer hull doors. Although these commands did not include Pilot's voice, but were merely electronic impulses, Rohvu knew what the commend to vent his atmosphere meant. The poor creatures that would be sucked out of his body would be better off in the vacuum of space – their existence was as pointless and wretched as his own.  
  
Perhaps it would be better for himself and Pilot as well, if he simply reopened the doors to Pilot's chamber and allowed the vacuum in – or rather allowed the atmosphere in the chamber to escape. Then they could both just sleep. The pain would go away...  
  
But no. There were new voices – one male, one female – voices that spoke real language. He was sure he hadn't imagined them, echoing through his communications systems. If he had imagined those voices, if there was no one new within his bulkheads, then how had he come to be free of the control collar?  
  
The aborted attempt at starburst, many arns ago now, had been Rohvu's first inkling that something in his tortured existence had changed. That attempt had awakened all of these old/new sensations and, he realized, a particular emotion that he had forgotten: hope.  
  
It was with a sense of hope that Rohvu accepted and acted on his Pilot's commands, first to seal the chamber that housed his old friend, and then to open his outer hull doors to the cleansing cold of space.  
  
For the first time in more cycles than he could count, even as he opened his interior to vacuum, Rohvu flexed his mental voice and contacted his friend. *Are you there?* he asked. Even such a simple task hurt, but it was worth it when Pilot's response reached him.  
  
*Rohvu! Rohvu! We are saved!* His friend's voice was ecstatic and Rohvu's despair of a few microts ago was crushed by the resurgence of hope.  
  
*What has happened? How have things changed?* Rohvu asked.  
  
*We must thank the Creators, who sent Crichton and Chiana to us,* Pilot replied. *I do not yet know where they came from, Rohvu, but they have rescued us. Even if they are not as they seem, they have saved us from Kaarvok and his Xarai. For that alone, we owe them everything.*  
  
***  
  
Pilot deliberately dampened his visual sensors, both interior and exterior. For all that they had put Rohvu and himself through, still he didn't want to watch the Xarai being torn out of the Leviathan to tumble through space as they died.  
  
His orange eyes connected with the surprisingly green eyes of the Xarai girl that Crichton had brought with him. Eyes that were swimming with tears as she held herself perfectly still. Pilot knew without a doubt that she was aware of what fate she had been spared. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five  
  
"Get off him, fek face!"  
  
Chiana had been sleeping almost comfortably, snuggled up against Crichton for warmth, when something woke her up. She still wasn't sure what had awakened her, but when she became aware of her surroundings – still in Pilot's den on the floor below his console – she realized that not only was Crichton curled around her, but that creature was curled around Crichton. Maybe it was the smell of the girl's hand, too close to Chiana's face, that had brought her around to consciousness.  
  
Fully awake now, Chiana pulled away from Crichton. Still asleep, he pulled his arms in closer to his own body, in the process pulling away from the Xarai girl – what had he called her? Raquel? – as well. Good.  
  
The girl was awake, now, too, and keeping wary green eyes on Chiana. Sensing Chi's hostility, even if she didn't understand the words, she sat up rather than curling back up with Crichton.  
  
"You just...just leave him alone, Raquel," Chiana said, standing up and taking a step away from the console, toward the Xarai.  
  
The girl's eyes widened and she also stood, taking a step away from the Human. Again, a good thing as far as Chiana was concerned. Wild, pale hair moved stiffly in time with the shake of her head, as if she were denying any intentions on Crichton, dirty hands lifting in a gesture of subservience.  
  
Chiana stepped over Crichton's prone form. He was still asleep, but he would wake soon, both sources of heat having left him. She looked over the top of the console and saw that Pilot, too, was asleep. The den was utterly silent, save for the faint sounds of their own breathing and the occasional burbling sounds that Rohvu made. The little sounds the Leviathan made were, in a way, comforting – they reminded her of both Moya and Talyn.  
  
Another sound intruded, startling Chiana. She had taken a couple more steps toward...Raquel while listening to Rohvu "talk" to himself. The Xarai girl was no longer there, though.  
  
"Frell!" Looking over the side of the catwalk where the girl had been standing, Chiana watched as she fell the rest of the distance into the effluvia collected at the bottom of the chamber. "Crichton!" She ran the few steps over to him and shook him awake.  
  
Frell, frell, frell! She didn't like the little tralk hanging all over her friend, but she didn't want her to...to drown!  
  
"Wha—" Crichton sat straight up, looking a little wild-eyed. He was reaching for Winona when she grabbed his arm to stop him.  
  
"It's me, Old Man. Your, uh, your little friend just fell off the catwalk."  
  
"What?!"  
  
"Your...frell. That...Raquel! The...the...the Xarai girl. She fell over the edge. We've gotta pull her out."  
  
"What the hell did you do, Chiana?" Crichton rubbed both hands over his face, then stood.  
  
"What did I— I didn't do anything, Crichton!" She hadn't done anything! Why was he looking at her like that? Like she was a...a...child, or something. "I didn't."  
  
Chiana whirled around, looking for something to use to get down to the...well, dren...at the bottom of the den. Crichton was still looking at her when she turned back to him. "Oh, just stop staring at me and...and...and help me find a rope or something."  
  
***  
  
"What a lovely smell you've discovered, Chiana," Crichton said, paraphrasing. He was reminded of the trash compactor scene in Star Wars. "You know, I'd much rather wake up to a nice cup of coffee than...this."  
  
"Oh, quit bitching, Crichton. Do you see her anywhere?"  
  
The commotion had awakened Pilot, who had told them about a "shortcut" to the bottom of the den, since there was no rope to be had. Kind of a jeffries tube sort of thing. They had more or less slid from Pilot's level down to where they were now.  
  
Actually, compared to what the rest of the ship smells like, it isn't so bad down here, Crichton thought, eyes scanning for any sign of Raquel. Wondering if she had any sort of real name, he stepped out onto the catwalk system that ran about a foot or so above the level of the liquid that filled this part of the room. Watching for any signs of movement – the only ones he was aware of were those of Chiana, whose movements mirrored his own as she walked another catwalk – he stepped on something soft.  
  
"Oh, shit." There was a hand snagged on the edge of the catwalk. It was too big to belong to the girl they were looking for. He knelt, leather creaking, for a closer look. It looked a little charred... He closed his eyes for a second, then reopened them, grasped the hand, and pulled.  
  
"Gaagh!" he yelled, abruptly letting go in surprise, just as abruptly falling back on his ass, barely keeping himself on the catwalk. The hand belonged to what was left of D'Argo. He scrambled forward, reaching again for his friend's hand, just as it sank the rest of the way below the surface.  
  
"Crichton?" He heard Chi's footsteps as she ran toward him. "Are you okay? Did you find her?"  
  
He swallowed hard, sitting on the catwalk, staring at the effluvia, not knowing what to tell Chiana. "I'm okay, Pip."  
  
"You don't look okay. You look like you've seen a ghost," she said, coming to a stop next to him.  
  
Crichton looked up at her. "Kind of. Maybe."  
  
Chiana squatted, resting her arms on her knees. "What is it?"  
  
Before he answered her, their attention was grabbed by the sound of soggy footsteps coming rapidly toward them from the opposite side of the catwalk network. "Saved by the bell," Crichton muttered, watching the missing girl run toward them. She was somehow even dirtier than she had been before.  
  
"We have got to get this girl a bath," he said. Chiana nodded in agreement and stood.  
  
***  
  
"All right, Crichton. Spill it. What did you see, earlier?" Chiana asked as she picked up bits of all sorts of trash. The now clean Xarai was helping Chiana while he righted chairs and moved large, fallen objects.  
  
The three of them had cautiously made their way from Pilot's den into what had been the crew quarters of the Leviathan, in search of clean water and maybe something that could be used as clothing. There wasn't much, but they had at least been able to get the dirt and the stink washed off her. Well, Chiana had done most of the work – she hadn't let him near during the clean up phase, to his amusement.  
  
Now they were in the center chamber, starting clean up there. Until they were sure that Rohvu only had three passengers, they were going to stay together. The current plan was to clean up the center chamber and Command, in the process looking for anything that might be usable or edible. While they worked on clean up, Rohvu and Pilot were working on figuring out where they were, if possible, and, more important, finding someplace they could go for food and other supplies.  
  
Crichton thought they might be able to make it back to the planet he and the others had originally come from in the transport pod – he was still having a hard time accepting that they had just left Chiana and him here, but he was starting to get an idea of how it might have happened.  
  
"Coward."  
  
He looked over at Chiana. She looked bruised and battered and her black eyes were no longer filled with fear or panic, but rather with challenge.  
  
He sighed. Swinging a chair around, he sat, resting his arms on the back of the chair and his chin on his arms.  
  
Chiana sat across from him, the expanse of the table, gouges and all, between them. "What did you see?" she repeated.  
  
"D'Argo."  
  
She raised her eyebrows, but didn't say a word. The cave bunny continued to pick up trash and move it over to the growing pile by the door, paying no attention to them.  
  
"I saw D'Argo. About tripped over him. His body, anyway. I started to pull him out of the...water, but when he started coming up above the surface..." he paused, took another deep breath, then plunged ahead. "His body was burned. Like he had been set on fire, but the fire was put out when he hit the pool."  
  
He watched as her eyes filled with tears, knowing full well that she was thinking of a Luxan funeral rite, just as he had when he found D's body. Reaching across the table, he took her hand. "Chiana, I also found D'Argo dead in one of the corridors, yesterday. And you."  
  
"Me? Dead?" Damn it, the fear was coming back into her eyes.  
  
"Yes, you, dead. I also saw you getting onto the transport pod before it left."  
  
"No," she whispered. "No," a little more strongly, "that's not possible. I'm right here. I'm me. Not...not... I'm not some copy." She whispered again, "I'm me."  
  
Crichton didn't like that lost look in her eyes. He tightened his grip on her hand – it felt awfully small in his – and said, "We're both right here, Chiana. I don't pretend to know how this whole thing works, but you're you and I'm me. Okay?"  
  
She nodded, obviously unconvinced, but willing to be. "I don't wanna..."  
  
"You don't want to what, Pip?" he prodded when she stopped.  
  
"I don't want to be like her, Crichton." She pointed with her free hand over to the Xarai girl.  
  
"You're not like her, Chi." He gave the hand he was still holding a little tug, pulling her attention back to him. "Kaarvok is dead, Chiana." He spoke as he would to a child. "No matter what happened before, there won't be any more 'twinning.'"  
  
Crichton closed his own eyes. No more twinning. He felt like himself, not some copy. He had a suspicion that the Xarai came about because of not only too many twinnings, but from the originals being killed and the "twins" being copied. Kind of like a Xerox copy from an original was sometimes too close to tell apart, but as copies were made of copies, things started to break down.  
  
Huh. Xerox. Xarai. Whatever. He was John Crichton and Chiana was Chiana and if they discovered that there were more of themselves somewhere in the Uncharted Territories, they'd deal with it then.  
  
Crichton squeezed Chiana's hand and stood. "We'll get through this, Pip." He let go of her hand and went back to making at least one livable space on this poor, sick Leviathan. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six  
  
"Chiana, what are you teaching her?" John shook his head in exasperation as he walked back into Rohvu's neural cluster. Raquel – Belima, she told us her name is Belima – only knew three or four recognizable words, and half of those were "frell" and "dren." Since she hadn't known any words at all two days ago, he thought it was a pretty good bet that Pip was teaching her the UT equivalents of George Carlin's seven deadly words.  
  
After going through as much of the ship as they could over the past couple of days, and with Pilot's help using internal scans – somewhat buggy, but still working – they had determined that the three of them and Pilot were indeed the only living beings remaining on Rohvu. That being the case, it was decided that it should be safe to split up, which might allow cleanup and repair to go a little faster.  
  
While Chiana was supposed to be helping him with repairs in the neural cluster – Pilot was fairly certain the Leviathan could achieve a successful starburst if some repairs to his circuitry were performed – Belima had been set to scavenging for anything usable left aboard the ravaged ship. The most important thing she had found so far had been a box of comms badges, still in working order. The Xarai hadn't been able to eat the things or use them as weapons, so they had somehow missed being destroyed or even damaged.  
  
Hence, the interruption to the repairs this morning when Belima had commed him to come help her get a door open. Actually, he hadn't understood anything of what she said, but she kept comming him until he had asked Pilot where she was and then gone in frustration to see what the frell it was she wanted. Once there, she had pantomimed what the problem was, he had fixed it, and then headed back down two tiers to finish the much-needed repairs.  
  
Now, though, Chiana was nowhere in sight so he picked up the spanner he had dropped onto a shelf upon leaving and returned to the circuit box he had been about to work on. He had been having trouble getting the cover off to get to the circuits, thus the spanner rather than a tool more suited for delicate work.  
  
As he worked at the cover, his stomach growled. The gnaw of hunger was starting to become an almost constant companion, even keeping him awake during what passed for their sleep cycle. He and Chiana had been stuck here on Rohvu for almost three solar days – thank God the ship had a decent water supply. They had both gone without food for days before, but they'd be dead before too much longer without that water. Man, what he wouldn't give for a good – dead – budong right about now.  
  
The cover to the circuit box broke away with a snap. John closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Sorry, Rohvu," he said to the already wounded ship. "Pilot? Would you please let Rohvu know I didn't mean for that to happen?" The Leviathan was so used to his inhabitants damaging him for no good reason, John wanted to make sure he understood that this had been an accident.  
  
"You didn't mean for what to happen, John?" Pilot's tone sounded genuinely puzzled.  
  
"I didn't mean to break off a piece of him. I didn't mean to cause him any more pain." Sure, it was just a circuit box, just a small thing, but it was still a part of the living ship...  
  
"Rohvu understands, John. He is not upset or hurt. We both are much better than we have been in too many cycles to count."  
  
"You know, Pilot, that's just sad. We're gonna make it up to you two," John said as he stripped a wire, preparing it for reconnection.  
  
"That isn't necessary, John, but we thank you, all the same."  
  
A chirp sounded from the half-moon shaped comm badge attached to his vest, then Chiana's voice said, "Are you back yet, Crichton?"  
  
"Yeah, Pip, where're you?"  
  
"I, uh, had to use the...the waste recycler." Her voice sounded a little thin, but he couldn't tell if that was the comm or if something was wrong.  
  
"You okay, Pip?" She seemed to be getting weaker a lot faster than he would've expected, but that may have been as much due to the blood loss from the cut across her stomach as from hunger.  
  
"Yeah, Crichton. I'm fine. I'll be back there in a couple microts."  
  
"No hurry, Pip. I ain't goin' anywhere," he drawled. Either she'd tell him what was wrong, aside from the obvious, or she'd get so weak that he could just check her out for himself without her fighting him. He was pretty sure that cut needed stitches or something, but she wouldn't let him look at it. He kinda wished Zhaan or even Jool was here. Or that they had some chlorium to help Rohvu with the pain. Or that they'd pass a Taco Bell.  
  
If wishes were fishes...  
  
"I'm back," Chiana popped back into the room with a flourish. "Didja miss me?"  
  
"Ten microts ago, you sounded like you were gonna pass out. Now, you're bouncing off walls. What gives?" John gave her a closer look and didn't like what he saw. Her usually flawless gray skin didn't look good. If anything, she was more blue than gray, but not a good, healthy Delvian kind of blue. More of a holding-your-breath-until-you-suffocate kind of blue.  
  
She abruptly sat, with a kind of boneless grace, on the floor near where he was working. "I'm fine, Crichton. Just, you know, hungry. And, well, maybe...maybe a little..."  
  
"Depressed?" he supplied.  
  
"Yeah, a little depressed. I'm just tryin' to... I'm just trying to act like myself."  
  
"You're not worrying again about being a copy, are you?"  
  
"Maybe..." She wouldn't look him in the eye, even when he reached over to touch her jaw, turning her head toward him.  
  
"Chiana, sweetheart, I don't think we'll ever know if we're live or Memorex." She looked confused at his turn of phrase, but he ignored it. "It doesn't matter, Chi. We're here, we're alive, and we're going to stay that way." She did look at him, then. "It's not like you to worry like this."  
  
She sighed and gave him a little smirk.  
  
"Damn it, Pip, that's not what I meant." That earned him a real smile. He gave her a shove on the shoulder and said, "Grab me that screwdriver over there, would you?"  
  
"Screw what?" she said, standing.  
  
"Screwdriver. That little pointy thing on the shelf by the door." He waved a hand in the general direction of the tool he needed.  
  
She started to walk over to get it for him when Rohvu made a strident sound and the entire ship seemed to shudder, knocking John to the floor and sending Chiana careening into the wall.  
  
"Pilot, what the hell was that?" John shouted, steadying himself on his hands and knees. Just as suddenly, the Leviathan stilled and his sounds returned to their former burbling, as if nothing had happened.  
  
"I don't know, John. I can discern no reason for it. Rohvu says that he is fine."  
  
***  
  
Belima was hungry. And lonely. Since the strangers had come – John and Chiana, she reminded herself – she had no other companions and nothing to eat. That first night, when she had been alone with just the two of them, it had seemed to be all right. They had all three slept together for warmth, but now they all slept apart. What was the sense in that? There was no warmth. There was no companionship. Just...aloneness.  
  
She diligently continued to search the world, as John had asked her to do, looking for things. The pretty gold things had made him and the gray girl happy, although she didn't know why, at first. Yes, they were pretty, but you couldn't eat them. But then she had heard John's and Chiana's voices and the voice of the one they called Pilot coming through the little gold things. John had put one on himself, as had Chiana, and then he had made her wear one, too.  
  
She wished she could make sounds like the others did, sounds that meant something, so that she could understand them and they could understand her. John and Chiana had both been trying to teach her. It was hard, but she would try to learn for them – they had been kind to her and had let her live, when all the rest of the family had died.  
  
A sudden jolt through the world made her fall to her knees. She looked around, but there was nothing in the hall near her that could cause her harm if the quake continued, so, when she was sure that all was returned to normal, she stood again. The world quakes happened occasionally, they were simply a fact of life. She continued on.  
  
Her current search brought her back to that big place where the Pilot lived. She entered the room and made her way across to where she could look at the being they called Pilot. She had never been allowed in the room when Kaarvok had been alive and the big creature fascinated her. She saw that his arms were starting to grow back. That was good, but it would still be a long time before they could be harvested again. And she was getting very hungry.  
  
The Pilot said something to her, but she didn't understand, so she turned away from him and continued across the room, careful to walk only in the center of the path. She didn't want to fall again, especially if there came another world quake.  
  
On the other side of the room, she found the body of the creature Kaarvok had wanted her to make babies with. At least, she thought it was him – the body was mostly blackened from a fire or something. He was laying there on his back, with his arms crossed over his massive chest and she wondered if John or Chiana had laid him out like this.  
  
She crouched down and sniffed the body. Satisfied that the meat had not yet gone bad, she took hold of his hands and dragged him toward the door.  
  
***  
  
"That should do it, Pilot," John said as he secured the last wire in place. "Now all we need to do is find us a commerce planet or a supply station for some raw materials."  
  
"And some food," Chiana chimed in.  
  
He looked over at her and saw her holding her stomach. "And maybe some medical attention."  
  
Chiana looked up at him. "I keep tellin' ya, Old Man, I'm fine."  
  
"And I keep not believin' it, Pip." He took a step toward her, looking at her – and the wet blueness on her hands – more closely. "Are you bleeding again?"  
  
"I—"  
  
"Yes, you are." He pulled her hands away from her torso. The wound looked sticky and purple around the edges, not to mention a little puffy. "Chiana, that cut is infected." She started to protest as he swung her up into his arms, but he ignored her as he carried her out of the room and back toward the recyclers, where he could at least wash the wound out as thoroughly as possible, given the lack of soap or antiseptics.  
  
Apparently realizing he wasn't going to let her slough it off as nothing, yet again, Chiana put her arms up around his neck for a more comfortable trip for both of them. She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.  
  
Turning a corner, John came to a dead halt and nearly dropped her. Coming toward them was Belima, dragging D'Argo's partially burned – he choked down the thought of cooked – body behind her.  
  
"Belima, what are you doing?" he asked in dismay, setting Chiana down.  
  
Chiana was much less diplomatic in her reaction. "Let him go, you fekkik!" she shouted, running toward the Xarai girl as soon as she was released.  
  
Belima dropped D'Argo's hands and then dropped herself into a defensive crouch to ward off the Nebari girl hurtling toward her.  
  
"Chiana, hang on!" John yelled. He, too, sprinted for the other end of the corridor, grabbing Chiana's arm, spinning her around before she could reach Belima.  
  
"What's she gonna do to him, Crichton?! Answer me that!" Chiana was frantic.  
  
"We don't know—"  
  
His reply was cut off. "Food," Belima said, pointing at D'Argo's lifeless form. "Food." Her green eyes met John's horrified blue ones.  
  
Chiana let out a shriek and tried to launch herself at Belima, her intent very clearly to do harm. John didn't let go of her arm, though. "Chiana, stop it. We're not gonna eat D'Argo."  
  
Belima scuttled back away from D'Argo's body. "Food," she said again, pointing, but sounding much less sure of herself.  
  
"No, Belima," John replied, holding his hand over Chiana's mouth as she struggled to break free, hoping she didn't bite him. "Not food. Never food." He shook his head and suddenly found that his whole body was shaking, too. "God, not food."  
  
Chiana stopped struggling when the girl said, "Not...food?" Belima shook her head in imitation of John.  
  
Cautiously, John let go of Chiana when she pulled away from him, still afraid that she was going to attack the Xarai girl. Not taking her eyes off Belima, Chi went to D'Argo. "He's okay, Crichton. She...she didn't hurt him," she said, stroking D'Argo's tankas.  
  
John closed his eyes, wishing he were back on Moya and the universe was a little more sane. "She doesn't know any better, Chi." That being said, he was still sick at the thought. "I think maybe it's time for that funeral."  
  
"Yeah, Crichton. I think that's a good idea."  
  
They had spoken about it right after they found his body, but had gotten a bit side-tracked since. John regretted that now, but none of them were thinking too clearly. Softly, he said, "I'm sorry, D. Man, I'm sorry." He blinked his eyes, hard, then said, "Pilot, have you found us a supply station yet?"  
  
"Yes, John. There is a supply station not too far from here."  
  
"Hallelujah!" He crouched down next to Chiana, touching her lightly on the shoulder. Belima was still kind of huddled in on herself a few feet away from them, but he couldn't worry about her right now. "How long will it take us to get there?" He took Chi's hand and pulled her up so that she was standing next to him, then crouched back down and maneuvered D'Argo around so that he could lift him.  
  
"I do not know, John. We have not been able to move from where we are in several cycles, but Rohvu says that he will probably be able to starburst in less than an arn."  
  
"Wonderful, Pilot. Just get us there as soon as you can." With that, John carefully lifted his friend and made his way back to Pilot's den, Chiana holding D'Argo's hand beside him, a bewildered Belima following cautiously behind. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven  
  
John stood in the more or less cleaned up Command area, chewing absent-mindedly at his thumb, thinking. Pilot had just advised him that they would arrive at the supply station in about half an arn, which was great, but he had also advised him that the frelling Xarai had long ago destroyed the controls to Rohvu's docking clamps, probably in their voracious search for food. (John had supplied the frelling part.)  
  
Here they were, half an arn away from food and supplies – particularly food – and they not only had no working docking clamps, but also no transport pods, and no EVA suits. Without a transport pod or EVA suits, they couldn't fly from the ship to the station or even space-walk over to it. The transport pods had all been either used as escape vehicles or destroyed, back when Kaarvok had first escaped confinement. The EVA suits had been cut up over the years to make what passed for clothing for the Xarai.  
  
"Perhaps when you arrive, John, you could call a cab."  
  
John's eyes focused on the incongruous sight of Scorpius' neural clone wearing a gray jacket that sported an embroidered "Harvey" on the left and "Yellow Cab Co." on the right. There was a cheesy grin on the cadaverous face below a patent-leather brimmed hat.  
  
"A cab...?" Although John's tone was skeptical, Harvey had started the wheels turning. He could contact the station administrators and see if they had some sort of shuttle that could pick them up... Of course, he might be worried about nothing. If the station was big enough, they had to have some way of docking all sorts of ships, right?  
  
"And while we're on the subject," Harvey continued as he leaned back on the main console, "what exactly are you going to do about procuring your supplies? You're not exactly awash in coin." The neural clone/New York cabbie gone wrong took a bite out of what looked like an apple. Golden Delicious, to be exact. Bastard.  
  
John's stomach growled and he felt a little faint. "Go away, Harvey," he said wearily, looking around for the container of water he had brought with him – he remembered setting it down, but couldn't recall where.  
  
The bastard was right, though. They didn't have much of value to exchange for the things they needed. A few comms badges that could possibly be reworked by someone to use independently of Rohvu. What amounted to a cheap copy of a Luxan Qualta blade, since it didn't work as a rifle – he and Chiana had thought about leaving it with D'Argo, when they'd performed his last rites, but had decided Big D would've preferred the defective copy to go toward their survival, instead. Massive amounts of bat guano at the bottom of Pilot's den that someone, somewhere could maybe use as a primitive fuel source. A pulse pistol that was running out of juice and that they couldn't afford to trade, anyway.  
  
Hell, the most valuable thing they had to barter with right now was themselves, and that wasn't exactly saying much, in their current sorry condition.  
  
He spotted his water on a table by the main console – it had been hidden behind Harvey, who had chosen to leave as abruptly as he had appeared. Grabbing the water, John took a long pull and then commed Chiana. "Hey, Pip. Come on up to Command. We need to put together our game plan."  
  
***  
  
"John, the shuttle should arrive in approximately 200 microts."  
  
"Thanks, Pilot," John replied, checking Winona's chakan oil charge – it was registering at about half. He looked over his shoulder to see Chiana running into the bay. After he had cleaned and bandaged her wound as best he could, she had managed to remove most of the blood from the rest of her clothing and was looking relatively respectable.  
  
"Where's Belima?"  
  
Chiana stopped and blinked at him. "I've got her locked up in one of the cells. She's gonna be tinked when we get back, though..." She shook her head, fussing a bit with the separated edges of her tunic.  
  
"You locked her in a cell?"  
  
"Well, that's what we talked about doing... Isn't it?" She squirmed a little as he stared at her.  
  
Knowing Chiana, he said, "Spill it, Chiana. What else did you do to her?"  
  
"I kinda...I figured she might, you know, hurt Rohvu trying to get out of the cell."  
  
The possibilities danced in his head as he stared at the Nebari.  
  
"I, uh, tied her up. And gagged her. Don't look at me like that! She'd probably try to eat through the walls of her cell, if I hadn't."  
  
He shook his head. Chiana was probably right, since Belima didn't understand most of what they said to her, and thus couldn't be trusted out of their sight on the station. The two of them had gone back and forth on that one. He had been rethinking the advisability of leaving her here, but Chiana had nixed that. They couldn't risk taking her with them. Nor could they afford to let her roam free while they were gone.  
  
"No, you're right, Pip. We can't risk it. We'll just have to try to get our, uh, business transacted as quickly as we can."  
  
They both turned as a small shuttle pulled into the hangar and landed. According to what the station's customer service rep had told John when he talked to him about transportation, it was unmanned. The vehicle was a boxy sort of thing, obviously not intended for atmospheric flight, at least not rapid atmospheric flight, but looked quite competent at transport functions in space. In fact, the darn thing looked a lot like the shuttles from the original Star Trek – he half expected Mr. Spock to pop his head out as a panel in the side of the thing slid open to allow them to enter.  
  
While he hesitated, Chiana sauntered over to the shuttle. Halfway in, she turned around and said, "What're you waiting for, Crichton? Let's go shopping!"  
  
***  
  
Even though the old man was clearly still worried about her and even though her stomach hurt like hezmana, Chiana felt more at ease here on this supply station than she had in what seemed like monens. It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact that all the frelling nasty things that had happened to them recently had occurred in just under three solar days.  
  
Right now, it was just her and Crichton, roaming through a bazaar set up in a huge open area at the center of the supply station, checking out the places that might have the things they needed. Of course, they needed everything, so it wasn't hard to find a stall that looked useful.  
  
With a quick check to make sure no one was looking right at her, she brushed lightly but deliberately against a prosperous looking man. She apologized as she passed him and he never realized that he no longer had the wallet in his pocket that had been there on his arrival.  
  
Hah! she thought to herself. I've still got it.  
  
Crichton could trade those zennid comms badges for a little coin, if he wanted. Her way was a lot faster and a lot less effort. Ducking into a stall that sold ready-to-eat food, her mouth watering and her stomach clenching with hunger, this time, instead of pain, Chiana opened her newly acquired wallet. She made a quick count of the money – about 200, not bad for five microts' work – as she handed a bit to the proprietor and said, "One of those." She pointed to some sort of roasted meat wrapped in what looked like a leaf.  
  
Taking the food and her change from his outstretched hand, she forced herself to eat slowly, chewing before swallowing, while she pocketed the coins. She didn't want to make a spectacle of herself...  
  
***  
  
John had lost Chiana in the crowd. No matter. They had their comms and they had a plan in place to meet up in a couple arns at the place Chi said was a clinic. He hadn't recognized the symbol on the door, but apparently it was the UT version of a red cross. He just hoped she didn't get herself caught – she hadn't said it in so many words, but he was sure she would be out picking pockets until they met up again.  
  
Ignoring his stomach, which was clamoring at him to get food first, he continued toward the pawn shop he had been directed to when they first hit the bazaar. He wanted to have as much cash on hand as possible to pay for stitches and whatever else they needed to get Chi healthy again. Stealing their supplies and food, if they had to, didn't bother him too much – and what did that tell him about his stay in the Uncharteds? – but he drew the line at stealing a medic's services.  
  
Having arrived at the pawn shop, he pushed past a curtain to enter. The place was full of the sort of junk you'd expect in a pawn shop. Everything from jewelry to musical instruments to weapons crowded the shop's walls, shelves and counters. John's eye was caught by a lethal- looking pulse rifle – chakan oil clip clearly missing from the appropriate space, probably for safety purposes.  
  
Behind a counter in the far corner of the small shop, with a clear and unobstructed view of the entire place, was a being of a type that John hadn't encountered before. Very tall, very thin, very pale – though not white, like a Nebari – with a shock of orange "hair." He couldn't tell if it was male or female or something else entirely.  
  
"May I help you?" The question was asked in a very high, thin voice. That figured. Still couldn't tell if it was male or female, though he wasn't sure that it mattered, either way.  
  
"Beaker, man... Where's the Professor?" John said, walking up to the counter.  
  
"Pardon me?"  
  
"Sorry, you remind me of someone I knew when I was a kid."  
  
"What can I do for you, sir? Are you here to buy, sell, or trade?" Beaker made an all-encompassing gesture toward the shop and merchandise.  
  
"Well," John said with a drawl. He pulled out the box of comms badges and carefully set it on the counter – he'd move on to the Qualta on his back later. He was kind of hoping that if he treated the comms like they were valuable, he might get a better price for them. "I'd like to sell these." He opened the lid, exposing the gold badges within.  
  
Beaker just as carefully lifted one from the box with his long, thin fingers, bringing it up to his somewhat protruding eyes for a closer look. He turned the badge over in his hand, sniffed it, then returned it to the box. "These look like a Leviathan's communications badges."  
  
"You are right! Give the man a prize!"  
  
"Where did you get them? I don't see many things Leviathan in these parts." John couldn't tell if he sounded suspicious that they might've been stolen or not.  
  
Leaning on the counter, the badge on his vest in plain view, he said, "We have a very small crew, so we don't need all these comms. What we do need, is cash. I'd be willing to part with this whole box for, say, a hundred units of the local currency." He tried to keep his expression and voice as neutral as possible.  
  
The thin orange eyebrows rose much higher than John would've thought possible, as Beaker said, "One hundred—? I'm sorry, sir. Outside of the Leviathan who created them, these are of very limited utility. One hundred is far too much."  
  
Encouraged by the fact Beaker hadn't laughed or told him to just plain get lost, John settled in for a rousing session of haggling. "Well, now, while I realize that, there're still a lot of uses for these babies..."  
  
***  
  
Belima was angry. More angry than she had ever been in her life.  
  
She didn't know what Chiana and John were going to do, but Chiana had tricked her into entering this room and then ambushed her, tying her to one of the sitting things and putting a wadded up cloth in her mouth. They clearly didn't want her with them. Tears sprang to her eyes as she struggled against the bindings.  
  
The Pilot said something to her through the pretty on her shoulder, but she ignored it. She had no clue what he was saying, anyway.  
  
Would they return for her? Would they ever come back to release her? Or would she starve to death here? She was hurt – she had thought that at least John liked her – and she was angry and she was very, very hungry.  
  
She tugged hard, trying to free one arm, but only succeeded in scraping off some of the skin and making herself bleed.  
  
***  
  
Just over a quarter arn after he'd entered, John walked out of the shop with a spring in his step, quite pleased with himself. He had managed to finagle 63 units of currency – he still didn't know what that currency was called – out of Herr Beaker, in exchange for a box that contained about a dozen or so comms. That was way more than he had expected. He'd gotten another 178 for the more-or-less useless Qualta blade.  
  
Looking first left then right, he made his way out into the foot traffic, heading toward a vendor Beaker had said would be able to provide decent, if unexciting, food for a good price. Probably food cubes, John guessed. He planned to work out a deal and a delivery method and see if he could actually pay for the provisions later, after he'd hooked back up with Chiana and they had a chance to figure out how much they had between them.  
  
Before John made it more than a dozen steps, though, the tantalizing aroma of roasted meat drifted his way from a nearby stall. His stomach growled like a grizzly and he decided maybe he'd better get some food now. That way he wouldn't be bargaining for more on an empty stomach. Entering the stall, he thought he saw a familiar gray girl in the distance, "working" the crowd, but he couldn't be sure.  
  
There was one person ahead of him in the line. He couldn't make out the details of her order, as she placed it, but the sound of the voice nagged at him. Dirty-looking coveralls that might once have been white. Dishwater hair escaping from what looked like a pilot's flight cap. Head cocked toward her right shoulder as she spoke. Short, stocky frame with her head only coming up to his chin.  
  
His suspicion was confirmed when she turned around, taking what looked like a sandwich with her. Nearly colorless eyes met blue.  
  
"Johnny-boy! Fancy meetin' you here!"  
  
"Furlow." 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  
  
"Aw, now, Johnny. Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Furlow opened her arms wide and took a step toward John, as if to embrace him.  
  
Hoping the movement would cover up any involuntary reactions – Furlow may have had a brilliant mind, but Miss Universe she wasn't – John sidestepped and laid some cash down on the counter. "Why don't I buy you lunch?" he said to her, then turned to the guy running the stall. "I'll have whatever she's having."  
  
As the proprietor left to fulfill their food orders, John turned around and leaned back against the counter to take a better look at Furlow. She hadn't changed at all in the – what? two and a half cycles? – since he had last seen her. She, in turn, made a show of looking him up and down, then looking around to see if anyone else was nearby.  
  
"So... Didja ditch that Peacekeeper girlfriend of yours?"  
  
It made sense that she would be looking for Aeryn, he realized. After all, he and Aeryn had arrived together on DamBaDa in his rather small, cozy module. All Furlow really knew of him was that he knew wormholes and he was with Aeryn. He hadn't really had the luxury, until Furlow pointed out her absence, to comprehend just how much he missed "that Peacekeeper girlfriend" of his.  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest, he replied, "Aeryn is an ex- Peacekeeper and no, I didn't ditch her. She just..." He paused, looking for some way to answer her without giving away too much information. He finally settled on, "...isn't here."  
  
"Here's your food, sir."  
  
John pushed off from the counter and turned to accept the tray. He started to thank the guy, but he had already moved away, heading for what looked to be a grill area. "Okay." He shook his head at the twitchiness of some people, grabbed the tray of weird-looking but tasty-smelling "burritos" and headed for a table outside the stall. Since he had the food, he was reasonably sure Furlow would follow him. And if she didn't, he was reasonably sure he could eat both burritos without too much hardship.  
  
The food court area wasn't crowded, so he had no problem locating a table, although there were no chairs evident. The tables were all waist- high to him – a bit above that for Furlow, who had, indeed, followed him – so the lack of chairs was no problem. Out of a kind of habit, he picked a table with no other diners nearby and deposited the tray there.  
  
"So, what is this stuff?" he asked, picking up a burrito and giving it a sniff. It smelled familiar, but he couldn't quite place the scent. Corned beef, maybe?  
  
"Shredded keedva, marinated in lirian oil, fried, wrapped in an arkan leaf." Furlow took a large bite from her own burrito and, when she was finished chewing, said, "If you don't want it, I'll be happy to eat it. Never let something of value go to waste, that's my motto."  
  
Keedva, that was it. John took a bite, quite pleasantly surprised with the intense flavors. "Not bad." He took another bite. "I've had keedva before, but not like this."  
  
Before he was even half-finished with his burrito, Furlow took her last bite and wiped her hands on her jumpsuit, not having a napkin handy. She reached for her beverage – John, having taken a swig of his, was happy to learn that it tasted very much like lemonade – and asked, "What brings you to these parts, Johnny? Last I heard, you and your girlfriend were on the run."  
  
John evaded the question. He really didn't think Furlow needed to know that it was just him and Chiana – he smiled to himself at the thought of how the two women would react to each other if they ever met – or that they were here under somewhat dire circumstances. "Just a supply run." He took another bite of burrito. "How 'bout you? What're you doing in this neck o' the woods?"  
  
"Oh, this 'n' that." That was one of the things he liked about Furlow: she never even batted an eyelash when he said things that made his friends roll their eyes at him. She took a long pull from her lemonade. "I'm actually kinda glad I ran into you." Her tone was coy.  
  
"Oh?" He finished his burrito as she leaned into the table and propped her elbows on its surface, resting her chin on her hands.  
  
Giving him an almost coquettish look, she said, "I've got some questions for you about that module of yours..."  
  
***  
  
"So, how much d'you want for these?" Chiana asked, carefully checking over a set of what appeared to be used cooking utensils that were still in pretty good condition. They were a little worn, but otherwise both clean and serviceable. She and Belima had combed Rohvu's galley and had found nothing that could be used for cooking. Evidently the Xarai either hadn't bothered cooking their food at all or hadn't needed pots and pans.  
  
The stall owner, a green-haired Sebaceanoid of some sort, made her way over to the table of cookware and made a show of examining one of the pots in question. She turned eerie red eyes toward Chiana. "I'd be willing to part with the set for, say, 30 dorvas."  
  
"That much?" Chiana shrugged. "They're in pretty good shape, but they're still used." Taking the pot from the woman, Chi thumped it on the bottom and listened to the resulting resonant ring. "I'll give you 20."  
  
The woman pursed her lips and tapped a finger against her chin. "25 and you have a deal."  
  
"Done," Chiana said with a smile. She dug 25 "dorvas" out of her purloined wallet and handed them to the shop owner. In turn, Chiana received a bag that contained three cookpots and two serving utensils. Of course, the most important part of the whole transaction was the bag. Now she had someplace to put anything else that she might...acquire during her shopping expedition.  
  
Leaving the stall behind before she was tempted to slip a few extras into her new bag, which wouldn't be nice, considering the shop owner had made an honest deal for decent wares, Chiana stepped out into the alleyway. Her next stop was a clothier – Crichton's clothes weren't too bad, but both she and Belima definitely needed a little something to supplement their wardrobes. And she wanted to bring back something nice for Belima, kind of as an apology for tying her up. She still felt a little guilty about that.  
  
Keeping an eye out for any of the other things they might need, the Nebari girl made her way slowly up the alley toward a large tent that looked like it probably belonged to a cloth merchant, based on the fact that it was itself cloth and had bolts of cloth arranged just outside the front flap. About halfway there, though, her eye was caught by a small stall that was filled with a wide assortment of weapons. Wondering if Crichton had yet had a chance to purchase any chakan oil cartridges for Winona, she stepped into the stall.  
  
"May I help you?" Another Sebaceanoid – maybe even an actual Sebacean, this time – this one male. Hmm. Very male.  
  
Chiana leaned on the transparent counter top, making a show of inspecting the variety of knives and pistols in the case underneath while at the same time carefully enhancing her cleavage. "Maybe you can..." she purred, looking back up into a pair of dark eyes.  
  
"Are you looking for anything...special?"  
  
Chi decided she liked his voice. Who really cared if Crichton had already bought chakan oil? They could always use a little more, right? Besides, she needed a pistol of her own. Spying a small gun in the corner of the case, she pointed to it and said, "That one looks like it might look good on me..." She looked back up at him, lifting one corner of her mouth in a smile.  
  
The man chuckled and unlocked the case. "I imagine just about anything would look good on you." He handed her the gun, which fit quite comfortably in the palm of her hand. "Or nothing at all..." One dark brow rose in challenge.  
  
"Not so fast..." Her mobile mouth stretched in a full-blown smile, taking any sting he might have felt out of her words. "Tell me about this little thing. How much of a punch does she pack?"  
  
***  
  
Belima howled. It was an eerie sound, echoing through Rohvu's corridors, made up of one part hurt, one part fear, and five or six parts anger. Had anyone been aboard to hear it, the sound would've raised their hackles.  
  
She had managed to pull one arm free of her bonds, leaving a bit of skin behind, and pulled the gag out of her mouth. Now her wrist hurt, too, where she had torn the skin off. She brought it up to her mouth, licking at the wound. That, of course, only made her stomach growl. She had known others, before John and Chiana had come, who had tried to gnaw on their own flesh for food; she had always considered that foolish, but she thought that now she could understand a little of what they had felt.  
  
After a time of licking and sucking at her arm, the bleeding stopped and she was able to start pulling at the bonds on her other arm. It would take her a while to free herself, but she really had nothing better to do...  
  
***  
  
After spending a grueling half hour answering some of Furlow's questions, those about his module and wormholes, and avoiding answering others, John was finally back on track in his search for supplies. Actually, Furlow had been helpful in pointing out the best places to obtain tools and various spare parts for all types of mechanical repairs.  
  
He had also confirmed that she had been right about not being able to obtain anything remotely like a transport pod or small shuttle here on the station – at least, not by legitimate means. No one had any ships for sale. The only small ships on the station were those that either belonged to the station, like the automated shuttle that had delivered him and Chi here, or they belonged to customers. Either way, they weren't for sale. Not that he thought they'd be able to scrounge up enough to buy one, anyway.  
  
As for star charts and maps, Furlow had told him she'd be willing to copy hers and that they could work out a price later. That worried him a little, but he was pretty sure he could handle Furlow. He understood her. She simply wanted to make a profit at whatever she did. He supposed he couldn't really fault her for that.  
  
Furlow had left him with the directions to where her ship was docked and the request to meet her there after his business was transacted. The tentative plan was for Furlow to take him back to Rohvu and drop him off, along with copied charts and maps – he'd spring Chiana on her later, when they met back up. She would then head back to DamBaDa and John and crew would follow her there, where they would stay for a couple of days while John helped her work on some modifications to a prototype she was building and she let him rummage through her spare parts bins. Who knew how that would play out, though?  
  
And now, here he was, on his way to the merchant old Beaker had recommended for the bulk purchase of food. Sure, there might be someone else on the station with a better price or selection or whatever, but John still felt he should check this guy out. Even if it was just food cubes, that sure beat starvation, or worse. And if the guy had a some sort of kickback thing going on with Beaker, so what? If he could still get a good deal on the provisions, that was all that really mattered.  
  
Turning a corner, John saw what looked like a squad of Peacekeepers in the distance. Crap. What're PKs doing here? he thought. He considered comming Chiana to find out if she had seen them, but decided against it. He didn't want to be responsible for her getting caught if she was in the middle of something. He'd just get to the food merchant, negotiate the best price he could for the most food cubes or whatever, hook up with her at the clinic, and get the heck outta Dodge. They couldn't leave here without the food or medical supplies, in any event. Besides, they couldn't possibly be looking for him and Chiana. No one knew they were here.  
  
John thought about that for a microt. No one knew Chiana was here. Furlow knew he was on the station, but as far as she knew, he was here by himself. And she wanted his help on the prototype she was building. No, he didn't think Furlow had turned him in. The last reward figure he had heard would more than be outweighed, in her mind, by the help he had agreed to give her in exchange for the charts, maps, and spare parts. She could make a much heftier profit selling her wormhole prototype than by collecting a reward for the capture of John Crichton.  
  
Well, he didn't have much choice. He'd just have to do his best to stay out of the way of the Peacekeepers. 


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

            _"…mation leading to the capture of John Crichton and his companions.  Crichton is of a species known as 'Human' from a planet called Earth and is Sebacean in appearance.  He is considered armed and dangerous.  Use extreme caution if sighted.  He may be traveling with other criminal companions:  ex-Peacekeeper Aeryn Sun, Luxan Ka D'Argo, a Nebari girl called Chiana, Delvian Priest Pa'u Zotoh Zhaan, a Bannik Stykera called Stark…"_

            Chiana's attention had been caught by the public service announcement as she crossed the central square of the bazaar.  The announcement was being repeated continuously and frell if they didn't have all of their likenesses in the accompanying hologram.  At least the reward was for their capture alive.  Guess they wouldn't ever be collecting one for Zhaan, then…  She blinked back sudden and unexpected tears.

            The unfamiliar female voice droned on as people stopped to listen and watch, the small crowd ebbing and flowing as new faces took the places of those who had seen and heard the announcement and moved on.

            It hadn't been playing a couple of arns ago, when Chiana had been through here last.  _I wonder where it came from?_ she thought.  It wasn't a Peacekeeper wanted beacon, as far as she could tell.  As her own image appeared again in the holo, she ducked back behind a stall and pulled one of her purchases from her bag:  a traveling coat to replace the one she had left on Moya, this one with a hood that could be used to cover her hair.  She shrugged it on and reslung the heavy bag which was now stuffed with cook pots, clothes for herself and Belima, a new shirt for Crichton, and ammunition for both her tiny pulse pistol and Crichton's larger Winona.  As the bag bounced into place, pulling at the fabric of her tunic, Chiana winced at sudden pain across her stomach.

            She brought one hand to her midsection.  She had gotten used to the dull throb that had become an almost constant companion over the last few days, hardly even noticing it, so the sharpness – the immediacy – of the pain surprised her almost as much as the public service announcement.

            Glancing down between the flaps of her as yet unfastened coat, Chiana moved her hand and saw that blood had begun to seep through her tunic again.  The stain wasn't fresh, so she must have reopened the wound since her arrival on the station.  As she watched, though, fresh blood darkened and enlarged the stain.  Putting pressure on the spot, she realized the sharp paid had been the fabric of her tunic tearing a fresh scab away from the wound.

            She wasn't too far from the clinic, now, so she should be able to make it that far without any problems.  And if she was caught, well, she was used to brazening things out.  Just in case, Chiana pulled the hood of her new coat down a little lower over her face.  Grimacing, checking to make sure her new pulse pistol was ready for use, if needed, she stepped back out into traffic as if she owned the place.

            She had learned early on, never let 'em smell fear.

***

            Fancy meeting Johnny Crichton here, of all places and now, of all times, just when she had hit a snag in building a copy of his Farscape One module.  Not that Furlow minded meeting him just about anywhere and anytime – he certainly was a pretty man – but here and now was just perfect.  She had built a mockup of his module back home on DamBaDa, but there was something hinky in his engine design that was giving her fits, so it was still in dry-dock.  She was sure, though, that he'd be able to point her in the right direction to straighten things out…

            Having otherwise finished her business here on the station, Furlow was making her way back to her ship, located on the fringes of the station's public dock.  The ship was a design of her own making and built in her own shop, loosely based on a Peacekeeper marauder, but without the armaments – it wouldn't do to have the Peacekeepers thinking she was any kind of competition.  Aside from the benefits of a largish cargo hold, the design acted as a kind of deterrent against unwelcome advances from, say, Zenetan Pirates or other undesirables in this "neck 'o' the woods," as Crichton had called it.

            She shook her head at the man's always odd turn of phrase and, not paying attention to where she was going, bumped into a slight woman dressed in a long, hooded coat.  Furlow narrowed her eyes as she turned to visually track the slender figure moving away from the central square.  She looked vaguely familiar…  After the woman turned a corner, disappearing from sight, Furlow realized that the quick glimpse she'd had of the girl's face had revealed perfect white skin and large, dark eyes.  Nebari.

            Thinking initially of the reward mentioned in the holographic announcement repeating in the central square, Furlow took a step toward where the girl had disappeared, but then she stopped.  If the girl was with Johnny, then it might not be a good idea to turn her in for the reward.  If she knew one thing about John Crichton, it was that she wouldn't get any help from him at all if she did something to one of his friends.  Nah.  At this point, she'd get more value out of helping John Crichton than any of the posted rewards were worth – Peacekeeper or private.

            Furlow continued on toward her ship to wait for her supplies to be delivered and for Johnny and whatever friends he had here with him to arrive.

***

            "Pilot, you there?" John said into his comms.

            "Of course, John.  Where else would I be?"  John had to smile at Pilot's befuddled tone.  He sounded so much like Moya's Pilot when he'd first arrived here in the Uncharteds, when just about nothing he'd said made any sense to any of his new companions.  His smile faded as a wave of homesickness washed over him, startling him with its intensity.  When had Moya become just as much home to him as Earth?

            "No place else, my man, forget I asked.  I'm just checking in to let you know that you'll be getting some deliveries any microt now."

            "Thank you, John, I shall watch for them."

            John had managed to stay out of the way of the group of PKs he had spotted earlier and had made his way to that bulk food merchant Beaker had directed him to.  It hadn't taken him long to negotiate a good deal.  Since it was a fairly large order with a fairly large amount due, the station's policy on payment was for the buyer to deposit the payment into the station-owned "bank," which was conveniently located just a short distance from the merchant.  Once the deposit was confirmed to the seller, the shipment was delivered.  Once the delivery to the buyer was confirmed, the payment was sucked out of the bank's account and into the seller's account.  It seemed to be a system that worked – John'd know for sure when they returned to Rohvu and found lots of food cubes and a lesser amount of more expensive real food.  He wished he had more time to get some chakan oil for Winona, but with the PK wild card, he didn't want to risk it.

            Arriving back at the bazaar, John paused at an intersection of alleys on the central square.  Hands on hips, he surveyed the square, looking for the symbol Chiana had pointed out to him as belonging to a clinic.  He spotted it in the distance, right there past his own holographic image in Technicolor.  Damn.  A frelling wanted beacon.  _I guess that explains why the Peacekeepers are here, but how'd they track us?_ he thought, frustrated.

            At least in the image from the beacon, he was wearing the long coat he'd left behind on Moya.  He looked down at his vest – not much in the way of a disguise.  He looked around at the shops, both rigid structures and tents, nearby, hoping for someplace that might at least sell a hat or some shades.  There.  Two tents to his right, there were some hats and other types of headgear hanging on a display just outside the tent.  He turned and headed as nonchalantly as possible in that direction.

***

            A bell sounded as Chiana pushed open the door of the clinic – one of the few more-or-less permanent structures on the central square.  She sighed in relief when she saw there was no one else in the facility, save for a Sebacean woman who came out of a room in back at the sound of the bell.

            "May I help you?"  Her voice was rough, almost low enough to belong to a man.  It matched the scar that ran down her cheek and crossed her throat, terminating at her collar bone.

            "Yeah.  I'm looking for a med tech."  Chiana craned her head a bit and straightened up to get a better view of the room behind the woman.

            "You've found one."  The woman's expression didn't change, nor did her gruff tone, but she did step aside to allow Chiana to see that there was no one in the only other room of the clinic.  "What do you need?"

            "I got, uh…cut a couple of solar days ago."  Chi stepped more fully into the room, making sure the door was closed behind her.

            Finally, the woman's expression changed a bit as one dark eyebrow rose and she said, "You can lock it, if you'd like."

            "What?"  The words startled her.  "Oh!  No, no, I'm, uh, expecting a friend."

            "Come in, girl.  I won't turn you in.  Let's take a look at that cut."  She gestured for Chiana to come closer.

            "What do you mean, turn me in?"  Chiana was the picture of innocence, she hoped.

            "Everyone on this station has seen that announcement by now," the med tech replied, nodding her head toward the room's only window and the central square beyond.  "You're safe enough here.  Don't have much use for rewards."  She stepped aside and pointed toward the room from which she had come.  "My office.  You can hang your coat by the door."

            Chiana stepped into the room and lowered her bag carefully to the floor.  As instructed, she unfastened her coat and hung it up on a peg by the door.  When she turned back around, she watched the Sebacean woman's dark eyes focus on the still spreading blue stain on her tunic.

            "Couple of days ago, you said?"  She tsked and motioned for Chiana to sit on the examination table.  "Take off your shirt."

            As Chiana lifted the bottom edge of her tunic, she couldn't stop a gasp as the motion tore the rest of the scab away.  She hadn't even gotten the garment off when she heard the sound of the bell in the other room as the clinic's outer door was opened.  Her hand drifted down to her new pistol, holstered at her side.

            "Hello!  Anybody home?"  Chiana closed her eyes, relieved by the familiar sound of Crichton's voice.

            "I'm in here, Crichton!" she called to him.  When he appeared in the doorway, wearing some sort of goggles over his eyes, Chiana said, "Maybe you should lock the door…"

            He gave her a lopsided smile.  "Already done, Pip."  He took off the goggles and, with a glance at the Sebacean woman, continued, "We don't need any Peacekeepers or cops barging in…"  His tone had a bit of a challenge in it.

            The med tech glanced up from her surprisingly gentle examination of the ugly cut across Chiana's stomach.  "That we don't.  So, you're the infamous John Crichton."  It was a statement, not a hint of question in it.

            "Is that a problem, Doc?"

            "Not for me."  She returned to her examination as Crichton entered the room and started looking at things on her desk and shelves.

            Chiana hissed as the woman poked at the wound.  The med tech looked up at her and said, "You let this wound go too long.  It's badly infected."

            "Huh.  I thought there wasn't any such thing as germs on this side of the universe," Crichton said, replacing a flimsy he had picked up from the tech's desk.

            The Sebacean straightened, pushing Chiana back to lay flat on the table.  "We don't have much in the way of disease, no, but there are definitely germs."  Chiana watched as she walked over to the shelves and took down a small leather case and a jar of something goopy looking.

            "My name is Reyna Val, by the way."  Gesturing Crichton to another set of shelves on the far side of the room, she continued, "Make yourself useful and bring me a towel from those shelves and some clean water from the outer room."

            "Yes'm," Crichton said, lifting one hand in a salute as he moved to comply with Reyna Val's orders.

***

            Belima had no idea of how much time had passed since Chiana had taken away her freedom to move.  With none of her old companions available to her, her sense of time had become hopelessly broken, anyway.  John and Chiana did nothing the way her family had.  Missing her family, she watched as a wet drop fell onto her chest, soaking into her clothes.  She howled again as she pulled her other wrist free of its bonds – this hurt, too, but she had loosened the bindings enough that it didn't tear off any more skin.

            Angrily, Belima dashed away the tears that were still hanging onto her eyelashes, leaving a smear of blood from her scraped wrist behind.  She was still angry and now both of her wrists hurt, though neither the anger nor the pain was as intense as they had been before.  The hunger, though, was getting worse.

            Her ankles were still tied to the sitting thing, but with both hands free now, she should be able to escape this room soon.

            She needed food.  Her earlier search of the world with John and Chiana had shown her that there was no food left.  She didn't want to starve to death.  Belima had seen a man starve to death, long ago.  He had done something to anger Kaarvok and, instead of using him for food, Kaarvok had chained him in a room just like this one and made it known that no one was to give him food.  Ever.  Belima had watched the man slowly die, first angry, then in pain, then just weak, over the course of many, many sleep cycles.  When he had finally died, there wasn't even enough of him left for anyone to make a decent meal.

            No, Belima didn't want to die like that.

***

            John spotted a water cooler over in the corner by the window.  He had grabbed a large bowl off the shelf, along with a couple of towels, when Reyna had issued her orders.  The woman just had to be a Peacekeeper, with an attitude like that.  Well, an ex-Peacekeeper, anyway – she certainly wasn't in any kind of uniform he'd ever seen on a PK.  For one thing, she was wearing a skirt, for another her shirt was yellow, of all things.  Yep.  Former PK med tech.  Had to be.  He wondered if she'd gotten that nasty scar leaving Peacekeeper service.

            He skirted the window, glancing out at the square as he filled the bowl from the cooler.  The square looked much the same as it had when he'd come in, maybe not quite as crowded as the day wore on.  It looked like the wanted beacon was still playing, though, and one of the Peacekeepers he had seen earlier was watching it.

            The bowl now filled with cold water, white towels draped over one arm, he felt like a maitre'd in a fancy French restaurant as he returned to Reyna's office.  Handing her the water, which she accepted from him and set down on a wheeled table next to Chiana, he asked, "So, Med Tech Val, did you serve on a command carrier?  Gammak base?  Someplace else?"

            He saw that Chiana was also interested in the answer, indicating that Pip had picked up on the PK vibe, too.

            Reyna didn't miss a beat, taking the towels from him and sitting down on a stool she had pulled over to the examination table.  "Command carrier, under Captain Bialar Crais.  You're acquainted with him, I believe…"  Again a statement, rather than a question.

            "Touché."  John took a step back and sat on the edge of her desk.  "What brings you here?"  Before she could tell him it was none of his business, he clarified, "You've obviously been here for monens, if not cycles and this ain't no Peacekeeper outpost."

            Reyna didn't answer right away, concentrating as she was on cleaning out Pip's wound.  The water in the bowl was rapidly turning more and more blue with each rinsing of the towel she was using.

            "Never mind.  I shouldn't have asked that."

            "No, Crichton, that's all right."  She dropped the used towel in the bowl of blue water and, picking up the clean one, began to dab the moisture from Chiana's skin.  Pip's eyes were closed, now, but he was sure she was listening to the conversation.  "It's a fair question, from someone who's being hunted by Peacekeepers.  My mate and I have been here for almost four cycles."

            "Your mate?  I didn't think Peacekeepers had permanent relationships."

            "They don't.  That's one of the reasons we were forced to leave Peacekeeper service."

            Chiana didn't open her eyes as she interjected, "Is your mate Tokar Rhee?"

            John raised an eyebrow at that.

            Reyna paused in threading a needle and looked down at Chiana.  "Yes, he is."

            Chiana opened her eyes to look at Reyna.  She smiled a little at the older woman.  "He…sold me a pulse pistol an arn or so ago.  Crichton, if you raise your eyebrows any further, they're going to fall off."  Returning her attention to Reyna Val, she said, "Your mate likes to flirt."

            John snorted.  _Reyna's mate_ liked to flirt…  He suppressed a chuckle at Chiana's hiss when Reyna jabbed the needle into her skin for the first stitch.  He loved Chi like his own sisters, but she was going to really get herself in trouble, one of these days.  He watched Chi's mobile face as Reyna drew a couple more stitches, careful to keep his eyes from straying to where the actual stitching was going on.

            "Yes, Tokar does like to flirt."  Anything else Reyna might have been about to say was halted by a pounding on the clinic's outer door.

***

            Reyna quickly pulled the needle through the Nebari girl's flesh, completing the fifth stitch.  The girl needed several more to fully close the long wound, but that would have to do for now.  She hoped she'd be able to finish her work, but thought that what she had already done would probably see the girl through if she and her companion had to leave in a hurry, as seemed likely.

            As Reyna stood and turned, the man who hadn't denied being John Crichton leapt to the doorway, pulling his pulse pistol, and leaning back against the wall.  His blue eyes bored into her as she nodded and stepped out into her waiting room, pulling the door not-quite closed behind her so that he could see what was going on in the room beyond.

            "Reyna!  Open the frelling door!"

            Relief coursed through her at the sound of Tokar's voice.  She didn't relax, though – his tone was still urgent.  Something had happened.

            He hammered on the door again even as she unlocked and opened it.  "Enough!  Get in here."  She grabbed his wrist, stopping him from pounding again on the now absent door, and pulled him into the clinic.  She slammed the door behind him and relocked it before leaning back against it.  "What the frell is the matter with you?"

            Just as Reyna had grabbed him by the wrist a moment before, Tokar grabbed her by the wrist now, pulling her toward the closed door of her office.  "Peacekeepers."

            "What are you talking about?  Of course there are Peacekeepers here."  What had gotten into him?  Peacekeepers came here occasionally, always on their way to somewhere else.  Crichton had been right, this was no Peacekeeper outpost – that's why she and Tokar had settled here, why the rest of his unit came here for supplies in between missions.

            "No.  Not just passing through.  Looking for us.  Rashov just came through the shop to warn me, said your door was locked and you weren't answering your comms."

            "You know I turn it off when I'm with a patient."  She saw the door to her office open a bit out of the corner of her eye.  "Rashov said they were looking for you and me?"

            "Yes.  We have to leave, love."

            "Did you see them?  Is it a Retrieval Squad?"

            "No, I haven't seen them, yet.  Rashov didn't mention a Retrieval Squad and you know he would have."  Reyna was relieved that Tokar sounded calmer.  That meant he was thinking again.  Ever since he had been forced to participate in Lieutenant Velorek's execution, he had been prone to panic at the mention of Peacekeepers – it was the main reason he was here on the station with her and not out on missions with the rest of the unit.

            "I have a patient to tend to.  As soon as I'm finished, we leave."

            He didn't say anything at first.  Just looked over at the door to her office, then back at her.  "All right, but hurry.  Maybe I can use that wanted beacon as a distraction – I sold a gun and cartridges to the Nebari girl, Chiana, earlier…"

            "Not a good idea, Tokar," Crichton said from behind her.  Reyna hadn't seen or heard the door open, but she certainly saw the pulse pistol in her peripheral vision, aimed at Tokar's head.


	10. Chapter Ten

Reyna felt him behind her – the man who had not denied being the infamous John Crichton – felt the heat of his body as he stepped closer to her. The pulse pistol and the hand holding it were steady, hovering just above her right shoulder. She met Tokar's eyes in the silent communication born of cycles of intimacy.  
  
"Why don't we all just step into the doctor's office and discuss—"  
  
She didn't give Crichton the chance to complete his suggestion. Reyna wasn't going to allow him to shoot her mate, even if she did understand why he might feel the need to do so. Instead, Reyna Val took one step back, bringing a booted heel down forcefully on the fugitive's instep, simultaneously bringing her right hand up hard to knock the pulse pistol out of his grip.  
  
As Reyna made her move, Tokar dove after the pistol, which sailed gracefully from Crichton's hand toward Reyna's office door. Tokar landed in front of the open door, arm outstretched to grab the pistol as it slid across the floor. It stopped just inside the doorway and he reached for it, rolling rapidly toward the weapon. Reyna knew that he intended to bring it to bear on the man now holding her as a shield, but that plan was pulled up short by the black boot suddenly pinning Tokar's wrist to the floor.  
  
"Am I interrupting anything?" the girl called Chiana asked, her tone innocent as she leaned most of her weight on Tokar's unprotected wrist. In the Nebari's hand was a tiny silver pulse pistol, aimed straight at Reyna.  
  
Reyna felt the grip on her upper arms loosen as Crichton surprised her by pushing her away from him. "Damn. Pointing guns at people is becoming way too much of a habit." His voice filled with self-disgust, he brushed past her, taking three steps toward Tokar and Chiana. He leaned down to take possession of his fugitive pulse pistol before reaching a hand to Tokar to help him up as the Nebari girl lifted her foot.  
  
Tokar stared at Crichton's outstretched hand for several microts before he finally accepted the offer. Crichton hauled him to his feet as Chiana, keeping her little pistol ready, bounced back away from the two men. Reyna did not miss the wince as the Nebari girl moved too quickly for her new – and unfinished – stitches, nor did she miss the way the two men were glaring at each other.  
  
"Enough of this foolishness. We don't have the time for it." Three pairs of eyes – two dark, one blue – turned toward Reyna at the pronouncement. "You." She locked eyes with Chiana and nodded her head toward her office. "Get back in there, I'll be with you in fifty microts." Without waiting to see if the girl would obey, she turned to Tokar and Crichton. "Do you two think you can play nice while I finish stitching her up? Tokar will not be turning you in to the Peacekeepers or anyone else." Since there was no immediate argument, Reyna spun on her heel and returned to her office. She heard Crichton ask, as the door clicked shut, "Is she always like that?"  
  
Both wrists sore and bloody, but finally free of their restraints, Belima leaned down to free her ankles. She didn't know what she should do next – her anger had passed, leaving behind nothing but that constant hunger, gnawing ceaselessly at her gut. It was getting hard to think and her fingers weren't working properly, seeming too large for her hands.  
  
With a frustrated cry, she finally got the last knot undone and stood up, kicking away the thing Chiana had tied her to. The force of her movement, though, was too much, too fast and she stumbled, barely maintaining her balance. She shook her head to clear it and found that to be a mistake, too, as her vision receded. She fell.  
  
It felt like at least a couple of hours had passed, but John knew it couldn't have been more than five minutes since Reyna Val had shut her office door. He and Tokar Rhee hadn't had much to say to each other – and really, what could he say to the man after pulling a pulse pistol on him? Instead, they had both silently agreed to ignore each other as much as possible until they could part company.  
  
To that end, Rhee was leaning on the wall next to his mate's office door, arms crossed, looking like every bouncer in every bar John had ever been in. He appeared to be more or less at ease, but John knew that look was deceptive.  
  
For the dozenth time, John's attention wandered back out to the market square and the wanted beacon playing there. Something about the woman's voice was nagging at the back of his mind, even filtered as it was through the window and a bit of distance. He had thought the darn thing was a Peacekeeper beacon, but he couldn't think of a single female PK who might be looking for them. John didn't think Scorpy would have had Barbie dub a beacon for him and Crais had made his own.  
  
That was it. There was something linking that voice with Scorpius. But what was the linkage?  
  
John's eyes narrowed, focusing on the image of Zhaan. The image of Zhaan, dressed in black and with a patch over one eye. "Holy crap. That isn't a Peacekeeper wanted beacon." To his knowledge, the Peacekeepers had never seen the fictional "Orala."  
  
"No, it isn't. You thought it was?" Rhee's voice sounded mildly amused.  
  
John looked over at the ex-Peacekeeper. The man's relaxed posture hadn't changed. "Kind of assumed that, yeah."  
  
"No, it's a private beacon. It seems you and your friends are becoming celebrities in this part of the Uncharted Territories."  
  
"Groovy. Just what we need." John looked back out the window. There were only a couple of people watching the beacon – he recognized Beaker from the first shop he had visited on the station. Standing next to him was a Scarran. "Just curious... Do you guys get a lot of Scarrans through here?"  
  
"Not many. Some. We're fairly close to the fringes of their Empire. Why?" Rhee pushed off from the wall and headed over to peer out the window himself. "Him? That's just Xegh. He's harmless."  
  
"A Scarran? Harmless?"  
  
"He works metals. He's really more of an artist than anything else." As they watched, a third person paused to observe the beacon. "He, on the other hand, could be a problem." John continued to keep an eye on the Peacekeeper now standing with Beaker and Xegh while Rhee moved swiftly to rap on the office door. "Reyna, better hurry things up in there. We've got trouble."  
  
Belima opened her eyes. Nothing looked right. It took her a few microts to realize she was still in the room in which Chiana had trapped her.  
  
Wincing at the fire in her wrists, she pushed herself up from the ground where she lay. Using the sitting thing to which Chiana had tied her for balance, Belima levered herself to her feet. Once the room stopped spinning around her and color came back into her vision, she made her way over to the opening to the room and tried to push the barrier out of the way.  
  
It didn't move. She pushed, she pulled, she kicked, she threw the full weight of her body against it, but still it didn't move. Belima howled in frustration, glaring at the offending barrier to her freedom.  
  
John and Chiana were able to move the barriers, so she should be able to move this one. With one last kick at the barrier, she looked around the thing, concentrating her attention on the nearest walls. Lids lowered to shutter green eyes as Belima thought about what Chiana had done when she had left her here, in this place. Her hand had hovered over a spot on the wall, just to the side of the barrier, and the barrier had moved out of her way.  
  
Belima took a deep breath and took a step toward the barrier. There. She held her hand in front of the place on the wall that looked like the same material as the barrier itself. Nothing happened. Frowning, Belima moved her hand. Still nothing. Perhaps if she touched the place...  
  
Startled, she jumped backward from the barrier as it slid up and out of her way. Green eyes wide, Belima gingerly stepped past the barrier and into the pathway beyond.  
  
Pilot had heard nothing more from either John or Chiana since John's earlier transmission, warning him of the supply delivery that had just been completed. Having no DRDs to aid in unloading the cargo transport, he'd had no choice but to leave the crates of food and other supplies listed on the electronic manifest exactly where the station's robotic stevedores had left them.  
  
The automated cargo shuttle pulled away, leaving Pilot and Rohvu alone again, save for the presence of the Xarai girl John and Chiana called Belima. At least now there was food on board for the others to eat. Perhaps, once their new crew's needs were attended to, they could go in search of the things that Rohvu needed to recover his full strength.  
  
Even as Pilot had that thought, a shudder rolled through the great ship. It was nothing new to Pilot – these seizures overcame Rohvu occasionally, without warning – but he still felt uneasy. Rohvu himself didn't know why they happened or, indeed, that they happened at all. The Leviathan simply trusted that his friend spoke the truth when he told him of the episodes.  
  
On the heels of the seizure, Rohvu advised his pilot that he could not locate the girl, Belima. She was no longer where she was supposed to be and, without DRDs, there was no easy way to locate her if she didn't wish to be found.  
  
The man called Crichton maintained his vigil at the window, tracking the progress of the Peacekeeper making his way around the market square, while Tokar attempted to contact Rashov for further instructions. His previous contact had been cut short, the only information of substance imparted being that Peacekeepers had come to the station, looking specifically for Reyna and himself. Rashov, however, was not answering his comms.  
  
"Our Boy Scout just had some buddies join him..." Crichton said, not looking away from the window. Tokar had no idea exactly what that meant, but he assumed that the Peacekeeper in the square was no longer alone.  
  
He rapped again on Reyna's door, more urgently. "Reyna! We must leave!"  
  
"Shit." Tokar turned at the sound of something heavy scraping across the floor in time to see Crichton shoving a low shelving unit from under the window to block the door. "We're about to have company."  
  
Not waiting any longer for Reyna's permission, Tokar opened the door. "They're here." He and Crichton crowded into the room as Reyna secured a cloth bandage around the Nebari girl's midsection.  
  
Reyna's violet eyes looked up from her work. "Lock it," she ordered Crichton as she moved to join Tokar in pushing her desk against the far wall of the office. A muffled voice could be heard from the outer room, demanding entrance to the premises even as the desk clicked into place.  
  
"Trapdoor?" Crichton asked.  
  
"Yes. For just such an emergency," Reyna answered.  
  
Tokar crouched down to work the hidden catch, flinging the trapdoor open to reveal a ladder descending into the ductwork between the station's decks. He stood, gesturing for the others to precede him, pulling his own pulse pistol from a holster hidden underneath his coat.  
  
"Aren't they going to notice a big hole in the floor?" Chiana asked, even as she snagged her bag and started down the ladder.  
  
Reyna, waiting for the girl to descend far enough to safely follow, replied, "There's a track in the flooring. The desk will return to its original position as soon as we pull the trapdoor closed after us. If they're looking for it, they'll find it, but it should take long enough for us to lose ourselves in the inner workings of the station." With that, she lowered herself through the hole in the floor.  
  
"You're next, Crichton," Tokar said as they heard the sound of the door finally giving way in the outer room.  
  
Tokar watched in silent approval as Crichton holstered his pistol and slid down the ladder, rather than taking up precious time by trying to use the steps.  
  
"Open this door immediately! This is Peacekeeper business!" The order was accompanied by a pounding on the office door.  
  
Following Crichton's example, Tokar hooked his pistol into his belt, grasped the handle of the trapdoor, and leapt into the hole.  
  
Chiana's eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness in the tunnels. It reminded her of her days on the run from the Establishment and she wished that Nerri were here. No one was better at making his way through twisting, turning tunnels than her brother. She watched a burst of steam, dimly backlit by light from an intersecting tunnel, shoot from a pipe not twenty motras distant.  
  
Hitching up her bag, settling it more comfortably on her shoulder, she asked, "Which way?"  
  
Reyna answered by lifting her hand and pointing toward the tunnel visible beyond the gout of steam. As Crichton came sliding down the ladder, the med tech stepped gracefully aside, moving in the direction she had indicated to Chiana. "The docking bays are this way. What berth is your ship in?"  
  
"We don't have a ship," Chiana replied, wishing she had been able to grab her new coat from the peg on the office wall. She wasn't cold, but frell it all! That coat had looked _good_ on her.  
  
"Yeah, we do," Crichton contradicted her as he took the bag from her, shouldering it himself. "Berth number 312."  
  
"What? Didja buy us a ship, Old Man?"  
  
"Nope, ran into an old friend. Lead on, MacDuff." He stepped aside himself as Tokar Rhee hurtled down from above. Chiana heard the sound of the trapdoor slamming shut and something rolling across what was now the ceiling above their heads and then Reyna was moving into the tunnel, so Chi turned to follow.  
  
"Johnny, Johnny, Johnny..." Furlow shook her head. Feet propped up on her control console, she relaxed in the comfort of her form-fitted pilot's seat, monitoring the station's comms traffic. There had been nothing better to do while she waited for Johnny-boy to finish up his business on the station.  
  
He was due to meet her here at her ship in about another half arn or so. Well, at least that had been the case before she had heard the station's security transmission. It seemed an enterprising shopkeeper had reported seeing the armed and dangerous criminal John Crichton here on the station and a lockdown had been ordered.  
  
Good thing she had ways around such things. She reached up to flip a switch over her head, activating her exterior visuals. She watched as her screen rotated through four different views, three of which showed armed security drones performing a berth-by-berth search. The fourth showed the tranquil, jeweled blackness of space.  
  
Furlow settled in to watch the show. If Johnny wasn't here on time, she was just going to have to leave without him and muddle through on that copy of his module as best she could.  
  
The odd lighting in these steam tunnels was starting to get to him. He could hear Harvey whispering in his ear, but the frelling irritating bastard was only doing it to get a rise out of him. The strobing lights, the gouts of cold steam, the whispering, the occasional passing of what was either the station's version of a DRD or a rat, he couldn't decide which, all were combining to give him a helluva headache.  
  
Chiana stopped abruptly in front of him and he about stepped on her. "Give a guy a little warning, next time," he chided in a soft voice.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Shh," Reyna whispered sharply. She stood in front of Chiana, taking the point through the tunnels, left hand held up in the universal gesture that meant "stop."  
  
"Stop or high five," came the whisper in his ear. _Shut up, Harvey.  
_  
All four of them – five, if he counted the clone, but Harv didn't take up much space – were now clustered at the intersection of three separate tunnels. John could hear booted feet stomping over their heads.  
  
"I wonder if it's Peacekeepers, looking for us, or bounty hunters, looking for you two," Rhee whispered behind him.  
  
"Does it matter?" John shot back as the footsteps faded into the distance.  
  
"This way," Reyna urged, heading off into the diagonal that crossed their original path.  
  
The tunnel they traveled now had multiple pipes winding through it, but no steam. As their little parade continued on, John idly wondered what the gas he was calling steam was caused by. After about a hundred microts, Reyna stopped again, this time at a ladder heading both above and below their current level.  
  
Reyna stepped up to the ladder and began to climb down. John's eyes met Chiana's in the semi-darkness and she shrugged before following the ex- Peacekeeper med tech further down into the station.  
  
"We're on level fourteen, your friend is berthed on level three, slip twelve. This access way'll get us there quickly," Rhee explained as the two men waited their turn.  
  
John looked over his shoulder. "What's the catch?"  
  
Rhee gave John a wolfish grin. "The access point for that level...well, we'll probably have to shoot our way out."  
  
"I was afraid you were gonna say that." John shook his head and began his descent.  
  
Furlow's number two monitor was showing some kind of disturbance as her external sensors cycled their way through. Leaning forward, dropping her feet to the floor, she toggled a switch to keep the monitor locked on two and punched a button to increase the resolution of the image.  
  
"Guess I'd better start the engines," she said as the image resolved into what appeared to be a running fire fight, heading in her direction. She recognized John Crichton and the Nebari girl from the wanted beacon, but she had no idea who the other two – a male and female, both apparently Sebacean – were.  
  
Reaching over her head, Furlow flicked another switch, causing a pulse rifle to emerge from a panel on the outer hull, between the hatch door and the number two visual sensor array. She took hold of the stick control that operated the rifle and sent a pulse blast down the corridor, destroying a security drone moving into position to block the fugitives' flight path.  
  
She watched the Sebacean woman in the yellow skirt leap over the burnt spot in the floor where the drone had been, only to turn back and grab the Nebari's hand as the girl stumbled. Crichton and the other man were coming up fast behind them, alternating fire. As the two women reached the now open hatch to Furlow's ship, Crichton's pistol made an audible fizzling sound.  
  
"Dammit, Winona!" Crichton yelled, but he didn't stop running toward the ship.  
  
More pusle fire was coming from the opposite direction now, from up the corridor, catching Crichton and male Sebacean in a crossfire as the other Sebacean helped the Nebari up the ramp. Furlow swiveled her mounted rifle to fire up the corridor even as she slammed a fist into the control that sent an electronic pulse through this small portion of the supply station's docks, disabling the clamps holding her ship in its berth.  
  
Furlow watched in bemusement as John Crichton came racing through the hatch with a yelled, "Yee haw!" closely followed by the fourth member of their party. "Furlow, get the heck outta Dodge!"


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Left Behind, Chapter 11**

            Pilot was passively monitoring the supply station's communications system when he was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, echoing loudly behind him in his otherwise quiet den.  He assumed Belima approached, since the others had not yet returned and there had been no indication that any of the other Xarai had survived.

            "Belima?"

            At his inquiry, the shuffling footsteps stopped.  Pilot turned as far as he could to look over his shoulder, but he could only see the girl from the periphery of his vision.  Until his arms regenerated enough that he could reach some of his tactile controls, he was not able to swivel his position to his accustomed 360 degrees.

            The footsteps began again, but still she said nothing.

            "Belima, do you need something?"  Pilot was beginning to get a bit nervous.  The Xarai girl did not have a large vocabulary, as yet, but John and Chiana had taught her enough for at least rudimentary communication…  "John and Chiana should be returning soon."

            The sound of the footsteps stopped again just short of his command console.

            "Please, Belima, say something."

            "Hungry.  Food."

            "Well, _that_ was fun."  Chiana grinned at Crichton when he lifted his head from examining Winona to shoot her a look.

            "That was _not_ fun, Chiana.  We're lucky we made it off that station in one piece."  He tapped the pistol with one finger, for no reason she could fathom, before bringing it up close to his face.

            "Something wrong with Winona, Old Man?"

            "Don't know.  It doesn't look like anything's wrong, but she wouldn't fire at the end, there."  He popped out the chakan oil cartridge, which appeared to Chiana to be nearly at full capacity.

            The situation reminded her of a few monens back – a lifetime ago, it seemed – when Winona had jammed on that commerce planet and Aeryn and Rygel had covered John and herself as they left in the transport pod, just before they had discovered that Moya had been taken over by Varla.  John had been pretty irritated at her suggestion that Winona had jammed, that she might be less than the perfect pulse pistol.

            "Maybe she jammed," Chiana said with a smirk.

            Crichton's blue eyes narrowed and he shot her another look, one that said he remembered the incident, too.  "Winona does not jam."

            "Oh, my," the woman flying their ship said.  "Is that your Leviathan, Johnny?"

            Crichton returned Winona to her holster and moved to stand beside the pilot, just behind the co-pilot's seat in which Tokar Rhee sat.  Reyna Val stood at almost the same time, moving to stand beside her mate to get a better look at the forward monitor.

            "Yeah, that's Rohvu," Crichton said.

            "What's the matter with him?" Chiana asked, surprised to see the enormous ship bucking and twisting in what looked like random, violent spasms.  Maybe she shouldn't have brought up the Nebari incident on Moya…

            "I don't know," the pilot, whose name she couldn't remember, responded, "but I'm getting some sort of distress call…"

            The woman hit a switch and suddenly they were surrounded by an eerie, swirling keening sound and the terrified voice of Rohvu's pilot saying, "Please!  Belima!  You mustn't do this!"

            "Frell."  Chiana's voice was almost a whisper.  She looked over at Crichton – even in profile, the look on his face spoke volumes.

            "Oh, God."  Crichton, in turn, looked toward Chiana.  His blue eyes were filled with the same revulsion she felt as he said, "Furlow, we've got to get over there as fast you can do it."

            "Are you kidding me?  Johnny, there's no way I can land with that ship dancing like that.  What the frell is going on, anyway?"

            "Just do it, Furlow."  There was steel in his voice.

            "Johnny—"

            Chiana cut her off.  "You've got to get us in there before she kills Pilot."

            Reyna's voice beside Chiana sounded puzzled.  "Is this a crewmate of yours?  Why would she kill your pilot?"

            "Because she's not exactly what you'd call mentally stable," Crichton answered, "and she hasn't had anything to eat for about four solar days."

            With a dramatic sigh, Furlow hit various controls and the gyrating Leviathan grew rapidly larger in the view screen.  "I'm just guessing here," she said, "but, there won't be any docking web, right?"

            "Please!  Belima!  You mustn't do this!"

            Belima heard the words of the one the others called Pilot, but, other than her name, she didn't know what those words meant.  She understood the tone of his voice, though, even as she climbed up onto the surface surrounding him, knife in hand.  A stab of anxiety ran through her, but she was so hungry.  And, although she had never participated in any of the Xarai hunting parties, it clearly wasn't the first time the creature's arms had been harvested.

            She reached up to grasp the arm closest to her.  It was small, not having fully grown back, but there was nothing else in all the world for her to eat and she didn't believe that John and Chiana were ever coming back…

            As her hand connected with the small, soft appendage, the world shook around her in a particularly violent quake.  Belima was thrown from the surface that had been supporting her – almost thrown down into the lake below, into which she had fallen that first morning after John and Chiana had come.  She made a desperate grab at the walkway and was able to get a grip on the edge on her way down, abruptly stopping her fall.

            She had to grip the edge so hard that it made her injured wrists hurt, but she was still able to swing one leg up onto the walkway.  As Belima struggled to pull herself back up, she realized that she had lost her knife.  She closed her eyes for a microt, almost in despair – she didn't think she could just take a bite out of one of his arms if it was still attached.  She opened her eyes again, heaving with all her strength, pulling with both arms and the leg she had hooked over the edge.

            Finally, she was able to pull herself back up onto the walkway.  The world was still shaking around her, the air was still filled with that horrible noise, and her vision was turning white again, but at least she wasn't going to drown in the smelly lake.  She took another microt to catch her breath and allow her vision to return to normal.  When she could see again, Belima looked around, spying her knife laying against the place where Pilot lived.

            She scrambled to her feet again, before she lost her nerve.  Grasping the knife, she stood, looking wide-eyed at Pilot's back.

            "Belima, please…"  Pilot's voice as he said her name sounded very small and frightened.  She understood being frightened – she had been afraid for most of her life – but she was so hungry…  She took a step toward him.

            "Belima!  Stop!"

            John Crichton appeared in the far opening, stopping with his hands gripping either side of the doorway.  Then he sprinted toward her, followed close behind by Chiana.  The look in his eyes made her take an involuntary step back from her quarry.  The look on Chiana's face made her spin around and run as fast as she could to escape, her hunger momentarily forgotten.

            "Pilot, man, are you all right?"  Seeing Belima disappear through the opposite door, John vaulted up onto the console to make sure for himself that Pilot hadn't been injured.  All four vestigial arms were still there, kind of flailing around as the big crustacean took in huge gulps of air.

            Chiana hurtled past them, running toward the door through which Belima had just vanished.  "Let her go, for now, Chi, she's not going anywhere."  His words caused the Nebari to slow and finally to stop, halfway between Pilot's console and the door.

            "She didn't hurt him, did she, Crichton?" Chiana asked without turning around.

            "I don't see any new injuries."  Pilot still hadn't said anything, although Rohvu's convulsions seemed to have subsided.  "Pilot?"

            "I-I-I—" Pilot stuttered in response.

            John reached for Pilot's great head as he heard the others approach along the catwalk behind him.  As he pulled Pilot's head down a bit so he could look into the frightened orange eyes, he felt Chiana climb up beside him, saw her gloved hand reach out to stroke Pilot's cheek.

            "We're here now, Pilot," she said.  "We won't let her hurt you."

            "I am…unharmed," Pilot finally squeezed out, answering John's earlier question.  The Human's eyes closed in relief.

            "Pilot, I am _so_ sorry…" Chiana said.  "We should've…should've figured out a…a…a way to take her with us."

            "It is not your fault, Chiana."  Pilot's voice was stronger, more sure.

            "If your pilot there doesn't have any arms, how'd he manage to send that distress signal?" Furlow's voice questioned from behind.  "I didn't think subspace communication could be done on a Leviathan without using the control panel."

            Relaxing a bit now that Pilot was no longer in immediate danger, John turned around toward the curious faces of Furlow, Reyna, and Tokar.  He sat, allowing his legs to dangle.  Chiana remained as she was, still stroking Pilot's cheek.

            Before John could say anything, Pilot himself answered Furlow's question.  "You are mistaken.  I have no such need of physical controls to send a distress signal, but I did not send one.  I…was…too frightened to even think of it."

            "Then it must've been Rohvu," Chiana said.

            "I didn't think a Leviathan could do that on its own," Furlow replied.

            "Just how much do you know about Leviathans, Furlow?" Crichton asked.

            "I've been doing some, ah, research since you last visited DamBaDa."

            John jumped down from the console and came toward the others.  "Rohvu here isn't exactly like your average Leviathan."  Since things here were calming down, he was going to see if he could find Belima and get some food into her.  He wasn't sure how she'd react to food cubes, but there was no way they were going to let her eat Pilot and he was pretty sure she had only attacked him out of desperation.  Explanations could wait.

            _Well, things certainly are proving to be interesting_, Reyna thought as she picked her way gingerly through the room Crichton had shown Tokar and herself to, before leaving to search for his wayward crewmate.  The room, a former cell on this ex-prisoner transport, was an appalling mess with bits of trash and…  _By Cholak!  Are those _bones_?!_

            "What have we gotten ourselves into?" she muttered.

            "Did you say something, Rey?" Tokar asked from the doorway, where he had paused to assess what needed to be done to make their new "quarters" inhabitable.

            "I was just wondering what the hezmana happened on this ship," she replied, gesturing to the bones peeking out from under assorted odd bits of trash and to spots on the walls that had clearly been hacked at with something more or less sharp.

            "I'm not sure I want to know, love."  Tokar moved briskly into the room and began to throw things out into the corridor.  "Let's just get rid of everything in here but the stuff that's attached to the bulkheads.  Once we get it cleared out, we'll find Chiana or Crichton and see about getting something to clean it with."

            _Things just keep getting better and better._  All John wanted was to find himself a dark – safe! – corner so he could curl up into a little ball and sleep.  But that wasn't going to happen anytime in the foreseeable future.

            Chiana had remained in the den with Pilot, saying she didn't want to leave him just yet.  Pilot, poor guy, seemed to appreciate that sentiment.  John had dragged their new Peacekeeper friends to one of the crew levels and showed them to the least offensive of the cells.  It was a different level from the one on which he and Chiana had claimed quarters, but he didn't think that would present a problem.  Furlow had gone back to her ship, saying she'd just bunk there, since that's what she was used to.  And here he was, looking for Belima.

            John didn't know what he was going to do or say when he found her.  The sight of her in Pilot's den, clearly meaning to cut off a part of him and chow down, had freaked him out pretty well.  On the one hand, he couldn't really blame her – she had been hungry and had reverted to what she was used to, the same as she had when she'd found D'Argo's body.  On the other hand, what if Chiana had been too sick or weak to go to the supply station with him?  What if she had been here and helpless and Belima had attacked _her_ with dinner on her mind?

            _We are definitely going to have to do something about that._  Maybe the presence of more people aboard Rohvu would help to teach the girl not to eat her shipmates.

            He had finally reached the part of the Leviathan where Kaarvok had demonstrated so amply just why he kept twinning the Xarai, the place where John had found D'Argo's dead body and Belima, trying to wake him.  He didn't really expect to find her in the first place he looked, but he had to start somewhere and this seemed as logical a place as any.

            "Belima!  You don't have to hide!" he shouted.  "I won't hurt you!"  At least, he didn't think he would – he was still more than a little freaked out at what they had stopped from happening less than an hour ago.

            Standing in the middle of the intersection of corridors, John closed his eyes and just tried to listen.  Given that there were so few living beings on this ship, any random sounds should stand out pretty well against the burbling noises that Rohvu had returned to.

            There.  Was that a footstep?  He opened his eyes and turned to his left, taking a few steps down the corridor toward an open doorway.  This level seemed to be made up of more prisoner cells, but they were in even worse shape than the ones on the level he and Chi had chosen to clean up as living space.

            The room in which he found himself, though, was relatively clean.  _Okay, maybe clean isn't the right term_, he thought, spying some bloodstains and bits of cloth on the floor by what looked to be a bed of sorts.  Nearby was a pile of blankets, almost a nest, lying on the floor.  Hanging from the middle of the high ceiling was a set of manacles right out of some B horror flick.  Well that was certainly appropriate.

            "Belima, are you in here?"

            He was surprised when she sprang up from the other side of the bed and made a break for the open door, but not surprised enough that he couldn't catch her wrist as she sprinted past him.  As he swung her around to face him, she squeaked and cringed back away from him, clearly terrified that he would hit her.

            _Well, that answers one question_, he thought, as her reaction to his presence chased all thought of harming her from his mind.  "Hush, it's okay."  He knew she didn't understand much, if any, of what he said, but he hoped the tone would get through to her as he pulled her in and held her close for a minute, as he would have a frightened child.  She was shaking in his arms, so he pushed her back a bit to look at her.  Enormous green eyes blinked trustingly up at him from a pale, pinched looking face as he brushed her hair back.

            Taking a step back from Belima, John reached down and took her hand in his.  "Let's go get you some food."


	12. Chapter Twelve

Rillian could almost taste the dorvas as he followed what appeared to be a Peacekeeper Marauder, which was itself following the trail of the ship that had broken lockdown almost an arn ago. He knew for a fact that the first one wasn't a Peacekeeper, although the design of the ship was clearly meant to mimic a Marauder – he hoped the second was fraudulent, too, because he was moderately certain he couldn't take a Marauder in a fair fight. Or even an unfair one.  
  
The reward being offered by that claw-headed female was only to be paid upon the capture of John Crichton and his gang. She hadn't said in the beacon why she wanted them, but it was pretty clear that she wanted them alive and that she was tinked. He'd have to share the reward with B'rel, unless he could come up with a way around that little detail, but sharing with one greedy and none-too-bright restaurant owner was a lot better than having a Peacekeeper Commando squad snatching everything away.  
  
Closing rapidly on the ship that just might be a real Marauder, Rillian was surprised to see a brilliant finger of light reach out from it, stopping just short of hitting the Leviathan's nose. A warning shot?  
  
Rillian's interceptor streaked past what he was beginning to believe was indeed a Peacekeeper Marauder. A light began to flash on the control console in front of him, indicating an incoming transmission. He stabbed at the appropriate button and a no-nonsense voice filled his cockpit.  
  
"Cease your pursuit at once. This is Peacekeeper business."  
  
"I don't think so. The criminals on board that Leviathan belong to Relkor Station," he said. _At least they will after B'rel and I collect our reward...  
_  
"Stop your pursuit and return immediately to Relkor Station," the male voice fairly dripped with contempt as he pronounced the name, "or you will be destroyed. This is your only warning."

XXX  
  
Furlow had just made herself comfortable when her ship's automatic monitoring system picked up a burst of intense radiation in the Leviathan's flight path and set up an audible alarm. Not long after, it picked up communications nearby, although they didn't seem to be aimed at the ship in whose landing bay her own craft rested. She killed the alarm and turned up the volume on the intercepted transmission.  
  
_"...is your only warning."  
_  
"Uh, oh." She flipped several switches in sequence, which activated circuits that would perform a search until it found the right frequency to get word to Crichton that his precious Leviathan had better move out, and fast. Given the close proximity of the analyzer to the ship whose internal comms frequency she was trying to determine, it should be one hezmana of a lot faster than trying to run back to that den, or whatever he had called it. Besides, Furlow made it a point never to run, if she could help it. While the analyzer did its work, she continued listening to the transmission.  
  
_"Look, Peacekeeper, this isn't your part of space. This is the Uncharted Territories and this particular bit of space is under the jurisdiction of Relkor Station."_ The voice sounded a bit shaky under the bravado.  
  
_"You were warned."_  
  
Furlow's eyebrows shot up in surprise as the Leviathan was rocked by an explosion nearby. It didn't feel like _they_ had been hit, so it must have been the Peacekeepers firing on the guy they had warned.  
  
"Shoulda listened. Peacekeepers just don't have a sense of humor."  
  
A chirp from her console indicated that the Leviathan's comms frequency had been found. "John, you'd better get this ship under way. The Peacekeepers have caught up with us."  
  
"Yeah, Furlow, thanks so much for the warning," came John's sarcastic reply.

XXX  
  
Furlow's "warning" about the PKs – he'd ask her later how she'd managed to get on the comms – was a day late and a dollar short. He looked over to where Belima was huddled, voraciously devouring food cubes.  
  
At first, she had been suspicious of the little squares, clearly not believing him when he'd told her it was food. He'd munched on half a dozen of the near-tasteless things before she'd taken her first tentative bite to the accompaniment of a loudly growling stomach. With some encouragement from him, she had taken a couple more bites and then snatched the container away from him, hurrying over to a corner with her prize. The turbulence caused by that near miss didn't appear to have disturbed her feeding frenzy at all.  
  
"Chiana," he said into his comms, "you still with Pilot?"  
  
"Yeah, Crichton. He's trying to calm Rohvu. Was that a shot?"  
  
"It was, Pip. Furlow just advised me that we're being chased by Peacekeepers."  
  
"Frell."  
  
"Well, I guess you should just stay where you are, for now. If you can get through to Pilot that Rohvu needs to do some evasive maneuvering, great. I'm going to Command and see if I can use the manual controls."  
  
"Okay, Crichton, I'm on it."  
  
Leaving Belima where she was, John headed toward Command – they had to keep from getting boarded or destroyed until Rohvu could manage a starburst... Even as he left the cargo bay, an ear-splitting shriek brought him almost to his knees and he felt electricity crackling and sparking all around him.  
  
"What the frell?"

XXX  
  
"Tokar, don't you think it odd that there's been no pursuit?" Reyna asked as she and her mate hauled what was once a bed out into the corridor, joining it with the other debris they had already removed from their new – albeit temporary – home. They'd worry about where it was to go from there when the little drama with John's and Chiana's shipmate had been settled.  
  
"The station's authorities aren't all that competent..."  
  
"Well, no, but you said that Rashov had warned you about a Peacekeeper squad, looking specifically for us."  
  
"There's no way of them knowing we were on that ship..."  
  
"Think, Tokar. If a ship suddenly broke free and fled from a station that was supposed to be in complete lockdown, wouldn't you assume that those aboard her might be the ones you were looking for?" She loved the man to distraction, but sometimes he could be so dense.  
  
"You're right," he sighed. "Even if the incompetents that run the station didn't send someone after us, Peacekeepers wouldn't just let a ship go that easily." He spun on his heel, heading at a run up the corridor.  
  
"Where are you going?" Reyna called after him.  
  
"Back to the den. I don't know where Crichton is, but he and Chiana are both wearing comms and Chiana was going to stay with Pilot for a while."  
  
Tokar disappeared around the corner, just as the living ship was rocked by an explosion beyond her hull. Reyna was thrown against a rib, but caught herself before she could fall into the pile of refuse, which had definitely contained Sebacean remains.  
  
Pushing herself off the supporting rib, she hurried after Tokar, thinking, _It seems we were pursued, after all._  
  
Almost to the end of the corridor, Reyna's attention was caught by a popping sound from the debris behind her. Looking back at the pile, she saw veins of blue light arcing between some of the metal bits and the ship's walls. The acrid – and growing – smell of ozone surrounded her as the ship itself seemed to scream.

XXX  
  
"Pilot, what's happening?" Chiana was still sitting on his control console, where she could look at him as they talked. He had finally begun to calm down when turbulence had rocked Rohvu, followed close behind by a crackling electricity that surrounded them, coming up from below.  
  
"Hang on, Chiana. Rohvu is initiating starburst. He is in a panic, so it will be rough."  
  
"Where's he gonna go?" she asked, bracing herself.  
  
"I do not know. He is using too much energy..."  
  
They were now completely surrounded by blue veins of arcing, crackling electricity that almost drowned out the high-pitched sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Chiana felt her hair standing on end as everything appeared to shift and shimmer around her. The console below her seemed to soften and flow as though it were melting, but the effect lasted for only a handful of microts and then everything snapped back into place, with only the acrid odor of singed hair and plastic remaining to say that anything out of the ordinary had happened.  
  
"Are you all right, Chiana?" a concerned Pilot asked her as Tokar Rhee came skidding into the den.  
  
"What the frell just happened?" he shouted to them, running across the catwalk toward Pilot's console.  
  
"An over-juiced starburst," Chiana replied, her attention caught by a flash of yellow as Reyna Val ran into the room behind her mate.  
  
"Chiana, you and Pilot okay?" came Crichton's urgent voice over the comms.  
  
"Yeah, Crichton, we're okay. Reyna and Tokar are here with us. Where're you?"  
  
"Still in Command." There was a pause and then he continued, "Was that starburst?"  
  
"Yeah, Pilot said Rohvu was panicked and used too much energy."  
  
"Pilot, any idea where we are now?" he asked.  
  
"No, John. It will take some time to determine that. Rohvu initiated starburst with no thought but escape, which does not help matters."  
  
"All right, you guys just hang tight there. I'll get Furlow and we'll meet you in a few."  
  
"'Hang tight?'" Tokar asked with a puzzled look at Chiana.  
  
"He means, 'stay here,'" Chiana replied with a shrug. "You'll get used to it."

XXX  
  
"Yes, Chiana, that switch there," Pilot said, confirming for the Nebari girl which control to activate to initiate the search sequence. He and Rohvu currently had no idea where they might be, their logs having been almost completely wiped during the panicked starburst. They would have to go through the relatively slow process of rebuilding their navigational database using archived information. If only he had the use of his arms, things might go a bit faster...  
  
"Hey, ya'll!" John Crichton said as he and a female who must be the one he called Furlow entered the den. Pilot did not understand the words, but it seemed to be a greeting of some sort.  
  
"Hey, Crichton," Chiana replied.  
  
"Pilot, man, Furlow here has some data chips you might find useful," John said as he vaulted up onto the control console. Pilot was beginning to get used to his and Chiana's penchant for such informal behavior. "Star charts and maps, not only of where we were, but of most of the so-called Uncharteds." He slid a chip into the reader, which automatically began to download the information contained therein.  
  
"That will certainly help, John," Pilot nodded. "Thank you, Furlow." The female's star charts combined with their own archived navigational data should allow them to determine where they were more quickly, but at this point, they had no idea how far that was from where they had originated.  
  
"Don't thank me, Johnny here's paying for it."  
  
"Damn, Furlow, could you be any less predictable?"  
  
She shrugged. "Make sure people know where you stand – that's my motto."  
  
John raised one eyebrow in an expression of skepticism, causing Pilot some confusion. John seemed to know this Furlow, enlisted her help and brought her aboard Rohvu, and yet he did not seem to trust her, as he clearly did trust Chiana.  
  
"How long do you think the search will take, Pilot?" Chiana asked. She and John were sitting beside each other, a set of navigational controls between them, dangling their legs over the side of the console in unison.  
  
"I do not know, Chiana. Furlow's data will help, but it will still take some time."  
  
"And then we need to chart a course to wherever," John added.  
  
"Not wherever, Johnny, to DamBaDa. You're going to help me with the module I'm building, remember?" Furlow said. "This trip has already taken me away from my shop longer than I was expecting."  
  
John looked over at Furlow, still swinging his legs. "How far is DamBaDa from that supply station?"  
  
"About a weeken at hetch 7."  
  
"I've never heard of this _Dam-Ba-Da_," the Sebacean male added to the discussion, "but Reyna and I have to get word to our unit on Relkor Station as soon as possible, find out where to rendezvous with them."  
  
"Well, Peacekeeper, you'll just have to wait your turn. Once we get to DamBaDa, you can figure out how to reach your _unit_." Furlow sounded as though she would not budge from her position.  
  
"_Ex_-Peacekeeper and Reyna and I have important business to attend to."  
  
"Well, so do I, soldier-boy."  
  
"Now, children..." John interrupted the brewing argument. "Chiana and I have friends we'd like to hook back up with, too, but it's all a moot argument until we figure out where we are now in relation to where we were, so frellin' chill, all right?"  
  
The argument swirling around him escalated, but Pilot tuned most of it out, now simply monitoring the increasingly heated exchange in case anything was said that he should respond to. This whole situation was making him very upset, that his new friends – the first normal beings he and Rohvu had been around in so very long – were fighting amongst themselves over something that he and Rohvu were responsible for. _Rohvu panicked_, Pilot thought, _but, then, so did I. Had I not, I might have been able to prevent Rohvu's thoughtless flight_. Although he did not like that the three additional – passengers? crew? – were upset with them, blaming Rohvu and himself for losing them somewhere across the galaxy from where they wanted to be, he was much more distressed that John and Chiana were upset.  
  
Pilot felt it when Rohvu picked up on his train of thought. A wave of remorse washed over him through their neural connection. He tried to reassure the Leviathan that all would be well – they were in a much better position now than they had been in even a weeken before – but the Leviathan was caught up in his own remorse and despair and Pilot could not get through to him.  
  
He tuned the argument out entirely, dividing his attention now between monitoring the ship's functions, reassuring his companion, and performing the search of the navigational data.  
  
Perhaps half an arn passed. Pilot became aware that the argument had ended, but the residual hostility remained, a palpable thing hovering like a cloud over and around the Sebaceans and the Nebari girl. A few microts later, the search ended and Pilot realized that it was going to take them at least a couple of monens to return to where the others wanted to be.  
  
While Pilot mentally prepared himself to give the others the bad news, Rohvu began to shake – another of the seizures that he seemed to have become prone to. Pilot concentrated all of his awareness on Rohvu – and was appalled to discover that Rohvu, in a fit of despair, had begun to vent his amnexus fluid and calorics, his lifeblood, into space...


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter 13**

1

_Well, Aeryn, here I am. Different Leviathan, different set of faces, different set of problems, and yet the same ol', same ol'._

John Crichton paused, unconsciously bringing the end of the stylus up to his mouth. Chewing absently on the stylus, he glanced over at the stack of blank flimsies that were in the process of becoming his new journal, the old one having remained with the rest of his gear on Moya. He had discovered the writing materials in what looked to have been the captain's quarters during Rohvu's service as a Peacekeeper vessel, which now belonged to Belima. Having also been used by Kaarvok, the rooms weren't recognizably Peacekeeper anymore, which had made his find all the more surprising.

"Well, it's not as if they could eat the damn things," he said aloud. Shaking his head, John returned to his journal.

_I don't know how long it took us to make Rohvu understand that he had to stop what he was doing. He wouldn't listen to Pilot or me or anyone else, but then something Chiana said or did… Well, Pip was finally able to get through to him that if he killed himself, he killed all the rest of us, too._

_Unfortunately, by the time Rohvu stopped trying to bleed himself to death, his power reserves were so low that we've had to seal off parts of the ship to conserve life support. All of our quarters except Belima's are in the same general area, though, so it wasn't too difficult to do that. And we've got more than enough space on the few tiers that aren't sealed to keep us all occupied with cleanup, since it looks like we're stuck with each other for at least a few months._

The tiers that weren't sealed off consisted of the levels that housed Command, the center chamber, the medical facilities, and their own quarters. Belima's rooms were near to Command, so were included with that tier. If there was a need for access to any of the sealed off tiers, Furlow had two EVA suits in her ship's supplies – one that fit her and one that fit both John and Tokar well enough to be safe.

John reached up and scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe the cobwebs out of his eyes before he touched stylus to flimsy yet again. _We're doing everything we can, both with physical repairs and just talking to him and Pilot, to keep Rohvu from slipping further downhill. I'm not sure if his lack of response to us is deliberate, a result of his depression, or if it's being caused by what amounts to loss of blood. And you know what? I just haven't been able to lay my hands on a copy of Leviathan Psychology for Dummies._

John was interrupted by a huge yawn that snuck up on him and felt like it split the lower half of his face completely from the upper. Going with the flow, he leaned back in his chair, lifting his arms over his head in a much-needed stretch. Thanks to Pip taking his shift on watch, he had been at it all day, working with Furlow and Tokar to get calorics rerouted to some of Rohvu's more essential systems. Tired as he was, though, he was still too wired to think about sleep, hence the journal entry.

Furlow, surprisingly, had let loose of some spare parts when they were needed and couldn't be salvaged from the ship himself. She admitted that she had been on the supply station – what had Tokar called it? Relkor Station? – because she had heard of a cache of Leviathan parts and equipment in that area and she wanted those parts to use in building her copy of the Farscape 1. In particular, she wanted a Leviathan-made hetch drive. As payment for those parts, she wanted more help from him on the module as well as on the care and feeding of wormholes. John's debt to her just seemed to keep growing – he only hoped that it didn't get totally out of hand.

Swiveling the chair around, John looked over at the narrow, rumpled bed. That was about all the room contained, just that bed with its somewhat ratty blanket and another rolled up blanket that was serving as a pillow, the chair he was sitting in, and the drawered storage container that doubled as a desk. The only light in the cell came from a small lamp on the desk – there wasn't even any ambient light from the corridor shining through the door, since general lighting for the ship was not one of the essential systems and thus was being kept low to conserve energy.

He gave his shoulders and head a quick roll, causing several vertebrae in his neck to pop in quick succession before picking the stylus up one last time. He wanted to finish this first entry to his new and improved journal before he attempted sleep. Besides, he would be better off if he totally exhausted himself first. If he was able to fall asleep at all, he wanted to stay that way for as long as possible, which was a dubious prospect, judging by the increasing frequency and intensity of the nightmares that had started not long after they'd returned from Relkor Station.

_Aeryn, I miss you. And I can't help but wonder where you are right now, whether you even know I'm not there. Jool was the only one who didn't leave that transport pod to explore the rest of the ship, the only one of us who never met up with Kaarvok. Pip was twinned and so was D'Argo. It stands to reason that I was, too. Chiana and I were in the same general area for what? Three solar days after we watched the transport leave? That's three solar days that D'Argo and the others had to make it back to Moya, get a transport pod that worked, and come back for us. But that didn't happen. No one came._

_After all, why come back for us if we were already there?_

2

Tokar Rhee jerked violently, waking with a start. He had dropped off to sleep for only a microt, he was sure, but even so, he glanced around Command to make sure no one had observed his momentary lapse. It took him a microt to remember that he was no longer a Peacekeeper and therefore had not committed what could be an offense dangerous to his health. It took him yet another microt to recall that the Leviathan on which they were currently depending was not stable either mentally or physically and thus the lapse could have been hazardous to his health after all.

He was taking his turn in Command, standing watch, monitoring the Leviathan's systems in the hope that anything unusual could be headed off before it became yet another emergency. Tokar had been there for almost three arns. Three arns spent alternately monitoring Rohvu's vital signs and cleaning up the mess that was Command in an attempt to do something useful and, in the process, distract himself from the stress of being aboard a suicidal Leviathan.

Prior to the start of his watch, which was now about halfway through, he and Crichton had worked with Furlow doing what Crichton called "plumbing" – rerouting some of the Leviathan's remaining calorics from the facilities that controlled starburst to the air scrubbers and atmosphere generators. Rohvu was incapable of starburst anyway, with his power reserves so low, so it had been decided to concentrate on life support.

The great ship was currently headed Cholak knew where, at a velocity that could only be described as a crawl. Pilot couldn't get Rohvu to answer any queries as to destination, but the Leviathan clearly had someplace in mind. Tokar just hoped that it wasn't so far from the shipping lanes that no one would ever find them. He wouldn't worry about it so much, if it weren't for that suicidal streak.

To prevent another lapse, Tokar stood up, shaking the kinks from his arms and legs. It wouldn't hurt to make a circuit of the room. Turning, he realized what had awakened him in the first place – the strange woman John had introduced as Belima was standing in the open doorway, staring at him. His subconscious must have heard the door opening, because he was certain it had been closed before his impromptu nap.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked.

There was no indication that she understood his question. He tried again. "Belima, right?" he asked, taking a step toward her.

Her eyes widened and she took a corresponding step backward, toward the corridor beyond. Even in the relative darkness, he could see that her eyes were a dark green. She might even be considered attractive, if she weren't so frelling timid. "Belima, did you want something?"

"I…Belima," she said, taking a half step back into the light spilling out of Command through the open doorway and pointing at her chest.

"Yeah, I got that." Seeing her look of concentration as he spoke, a thought occurred to him. "You never received any translator microbes, did you?" He wasn't sure how that could be – she wore the tattered uniform of a Peacekeeper tech – but he could think of no other explanation for her apparently total lack of understanding. Tokar took a step back from her and gestured to her to enter the room. "You might as well come in. You're not much on conversation, but at least you'll help me to stay awake."

3

"Hey, Reyna! Is this stuff any good?" Chiana opened a jar of a purplish ointment and gave it a quick sniff. "It smells kinda spicy…" She and Reyna Val were in the ship's medical facilities, such as they were. The room underneath all the drek and dren was very similar to its counterpart on Moya, but Chiana didn't get the same feeling of ease that she always got from Moya's med area. Of course, that might have something to do with the lack of Zhaan – and maybe the skeleton they'd found strapped to the examination table.

Reaching up for the jar, Reyna said, "Let me see." Chi squatted down on the counter on which she stood and handed the jar to the med tech. "Ah, yes." A dark eyebrow rose. "I'm surprised this _is_ still good."

"How can you tell?"

"The smell. It's j'ralla ointment, used in treating burns. When it's potent, it smells spicy-sweet, if it's gone bad…"

"Smells like dren?" Chiana asked, an impish smile crinkling her black eyes.

"It smells like dren," Reyna confirmed. "Is there any more of this?"

"Yeah." Chiana stood up and poked her head into the cupboard she had opened. There were half a dozen jars of the purple ointment as well as several boxes and vials that looked to be still intact.

Reyna stepped closer, standing on her toes to reach into the cupboard. "Well, you've found quite the treasure trove here, Chiana. I think an inventory is in order." Chi slid a little to the side and reached a hand down to help Reyna up onto the countertop. The Sebacean woman was a bit taken aback by the gesture, but accepted the hand up, even so.

It took the two women about a quarter arn to inventory the supplies – Chiana wrote whatever Reyna told her to on one of the flimsies that Crichton had found a couple of solar days earlier. In the end, there were a total of five jars of the j'ralla ointment that were still viable – Chi thought Reyna was being generous when she had agreed that it smelled like dren when bad – as well as two boxes of a powder that could be used for everything from headaches to sleeplessness and a couple dozen vials that Reyna identified as kill shots and their antidotes.

Once finished with the inventory, Reyna humming in pleasure as she worked following the medical find, the two returned to the task of removing debris from the chamber. Crichton and Tokar had agreed that they would haul anything that was left out in the corridor to the cargo bay and jettison it as trash later.

After pushing a large container of nasty stuff – including the remains of the poor guy who had been strapped to that table – out into the corridor, Chiana reentered the med bay and moved on to the next pile of trash. She stopped short, though, when she saw Reyna looking intently at her midsection. "What?" she asked, looking down at her stomach. Everything looked okay – no new blood stains, the repairs to her tunic still intact.

Reyna smiled. "Nothing, Chiana. I was simply wondering how the stitches are holding, given all the heavy lifting you've done today."

Chiana shrugged. "Fine, Rey, no pain at all."

"Good. If you don't mind, though, I'd like to check them."

"Sure." The Nebari girl hopped up onto the now-clear examination table, pulling her tunic free as she did so. A lop-sided grin spread across Chiana's face when she saw Reyna shaking her head at the typical informality of her actions. Once a Peacekeeper, always a Peacekeeper, at least in some ways… "Soon's you're done, I'll go relieve Tokar in Command."

Reyna poked a bit at the stitches and replied, "You've still got half an arn before your shift starts."

"S'okay. You look like you could use a…uh…backrub or something."

Reyna's only reply to that was another arched eyebrow. Chiana laughed, the merry sound a little at odds with the still grim-looking room. She looked at the neat line of small black stitches, the thin blue scar, and the clean whiteness of her skin. "Do you take them out, eventually?"

"No, Chiana, they'll dissolve on their own in a few a more days."

"Everything's okay, then?"

Reyna nodded. "You appear to be healing nicely, yes."

"Good." Chiana shoved off from the table, tucking her tunic back in. "In that case, you want me to send Tokar back here or to your quarters?" The last was tossed over her shoulder as she headed out the door.

4

"John…"

John shifted in his sleep. He was still at the desk, head cradled on his folded arms, the stylus having dropped from lax fingers to roll across the floor, stopping when it hit the opposite wall.

"John…"

The voice came again, whispering through John Crichton's otherwise pleasant dream of Aeryn Sun as he had last seen her, working on her prowler.

"John Crichton…"

John woke suddenly to find himself standing in the maintenance bay on Moya, watching Aeryn work on her prowler as he had done a couple of weeks ago now, before his life had fallen apart. Again.

"Aeryn?" He took a step toward her, confused. This couldn't be Moya – he was pretty sure he was still in his quarters on Rohvu… Wasn't he?

The leather-clad figure with the long, soft black hair turned. "Dammit, I knew it." Even as the figure turned, John realized that it wasn't Aeryn any more than it was the maintenance bay on Moya. "What're you up to now, Harvey."

"John, John, John," Harvey said, now looking entirely like Scorpius, Aeryn's beautiful hair having disappeared. _Thank God._ "Asleep on the job, Commander?"

"What the frell are you talkin' about, Harv?" John stepped further into the maintenance bay. For whatever reason, Harvey wanted to talk to him here, so he might as well see what the freak wanted this time. It wasn't _always_ bad, when Harvey visited…

Looking past Harvey and Aeryn's prowler, he could see what looked like his module, only not. It wasn't complete, for one thing. For another, Furlow was there, leaning over the cockpit, just as Aeryn had been earlier in his dream.

"Don't trust Furlow, John."

"Well, _that's_ quite the newsflash, Harv. What makes you think I'd trust her?"

Harvey cocked his head to one side and considered John as though he were a lab specimen. "I don't think that you do trust her, Crichton. I'm simply worried that you may let down your guard. She is not your friend."

"And you are?" John snorted. "No, she's not my friend, but she's not my enemy, either. Was that all you wanted?" John picked up an imaginary driver from the fake workbench next to his module. He hadn't even noticed when his location had shifted and Furlow was no longer anywhere to be found.

"But I am your friend, John. Have I not proved that to you?" Harvey sounded hurt.

"No, Harvey, you've proved to me that you don't want to die. That's not the same thing."

Harvey loosed a long-suffering sigh. "John, if you want to see Aeryn or your other friends on Moya again, you need to start looking more closely at wormholes."

John felt an eyebrow raise. Wormholes? Why did the clone want to talk wormholes now? "I don't get it, Harv. Is Scorpy around here somewhere?"

"No, John. No one who can help you is anywhere near here. Only me."

"Yeah, you and Scorpy are real 'helpful…'"

"John, if you don't master wormholes, you'll lose your Aeryn Sun."

"How d'you figure that?"

"It's quite simple, really. You master wormholes, you find Moya and thus Aeryn, you stop your twin from stealing her away."

Suddenly, they were no longer in Moya's maintenance bay, but rather in Pilot's den here on Rohvu, but before the debris had been cleaned out. The den was as he had first found it, when Kaarvok had still been alive and Rohvu had been crawling with Xarai. And there was Kaarvok, standing just beyond Harvey, staring at John as though, without Harvey's protective presence, he would be feeding on John's brain right then and there.

John shuddered in the dream, the movement mirrored by his sleeping body. The sheet of flimsy he had been writing on earlier fell to the floor as his arm shot out. He woke with an incoherent shout, sweat and fear pouring from his body.

5

"Pilot? Are you awake?"

Pilot recognized the voice as belonging to Furlow, even crackling as it was over the comms. "Yes, Furlow, I am indeed awake. Would you be so kind as to turn down your transmission volume? The signal is breaking up a bit."

"Sorry. That any better?"

"Yes, thank you. How may I be of service, Furlow?" He was somewhat mystified. Furlow had been taking great pains to avoid contact with him, and by extension, Rohvu, since the rather distressing day of her arrival. It was unclear to Pilot whether her avoidance was due to her irritation at being inconvenienced by Rohvu's panicked starburst or whether she was attempting to minimize her own effect on Rohvu's currently delicate mental balance – Rohvu simply didn't like the woman.

"I was just thinking about what Johnny was saying earlier today, about the ship not telling you where he's going…"

"Yes?"

"Johnny said he was on a definite heading, but you didn't know where?"

"That is correct, Furlow."

"Think you'd be able to upload the info into my database?"

"With some physical help perhaps, I believe that can be accomplished." His arms were growing back and he even had some small amount of control, but progress had been hampered by a distinct lack of nutrition, exacerbated by Rohvu's suicide attempt. He had some control, yes, but no reach. It would still be a couple of solar days before he would be able to work those controls nearest to his body and longer still before he would be able to perform at anything near to normal levels.

"If I come up there and give you a hand, I think I can crunch the data through my ship's comp and maybe get an idea of where he's headed."

"That would be…quite helpful, Furlow." Knowing where Rohvu was taking them would be the first step in possibly preventing the Leviathan from further self-harm.

"I'll be there in just a few microts."

6

"Man, what I wouldn't give for a cup of coffee!" John said aloud as he drank what tasted like watered-down Tang. Even weak, unimaginative, black coffee would be better than this liquid equivalent to food cubes. Taking another swig, he began to run through the possibilities of distilling it into something a bit more palatable…

"What…koh-fee?" He looked over at Belima, crunching away on some food cubes. Mmmm… Food cubes and watery Tang. Breakfast of champions.

"Coffee is a drink we had back home. Sometimes tastes like ambrosia, other times like crap, but even the crap is better than this." He turned a sour look on his cup as the door to the center chamber opened and Chiana came bouncing in, so he turned the sour look on her instead. "I hate morning people."

"Hey, Crichton, Belima." Chiana crossed the room and poked her head into the refrigeration unit, pulling out the container of Tang. "I think of myself as more of a…more of a…" She swung the door shut with her hip, a thoughtful expression on her face, which quickly changed to teasing. "…an anytime girl," she smirked.

John smiled and shook his head. "Pip, you're—" His words were cut off by Furlow's voice, issuing from his comms.

"Hey, Johnny, you there?"

He raised an eyebrow at Chiana as she sat down on the bench next to him, a little too close for true comfort. She continued to smirk at him as she tilted her head back to drink Tang straight from the container.

"Yeah, Furlow, what's up?" he said to Furlow before continuing to Chiana, "You don't drink the milk straight from the bottle." How many times had his mother thrown that one at him, when he was a kid?

Chiana's response was to put the container down on the table and sling an arm around John's shoulder before grinning over at Belima on the other side of the table. "Don't worry if you don't understand anything he says, Bel, nobody else does, either."

John pulled away from Chiana and stood, slipping away from the bench as Furlow said, "I think I've got something interesting, here."

"You in Command?" It was Furlow's turn on watch.

"Yeah, Johnny, and my shipboard comp just finished running an analysis of your Leviathan's present course."

"Oh?" He couldn't help but wonder if she'd somehow managed to hack into Rohvu's own computers, Harvey's words of warning still fresh in his mind.

"Yep. Spoke to Pilot last night and the two of us uploaded the course information into my comp. Figured I might be able to get an idea of where we're headed." Furlow sounded pleased with herself and John just knew she was working on some new thing to tack on to his tab.

Chiana came over to stand next to him – he felt her heat before she said, "D'you trust her, Crichton?"

"Not as far as I can throw her, Pip." Then he said to Furlow, "So, you know where we're going, then?"

"I think I might."

"Quit being cagey, Furlow…"

"From data I downloaded back when I was trying to find Leviathan-produced ship components, compared to the course we're on right now…"

"Furlow." He was too damned tired for this…

"I think he might be heading for the Leviathan burial space."

John looked a question over his shoulder at Chiana, who shrugged. "Leviathan burial space?"

"Yep. It's where Leviathans go to die."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Left Behind, Chapter 14**

_Timeline placement: an alternate universe, unrealized reality, whatever you'd like to call it, in which Crichton and Chiana were both twinned and now a pair of those twins – could they be the originals? – remain behind on the Leviathan Rohvu._

_Rating: PG-13_

_Disclaimer: The Farscape universe, and all that is in it, is not mine, but rather belongs to the Jim Henson Company. This is a work of fiction based in that universe. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has been or will be collected._

_No betas were harmed in the writing of this fic._

"No, no, no, Furlow." John Crichton, leaning on the table directly across from her, reached over and took the stylus from her fingers, turning toward him the blueprint that was laid out flat on the table's surface. "Like this." With a couple of long, sweeping strokes of stylus on flimsy, he changed the look of the design he had earlier dubbed the Farscape Two, apparently bringing it more into true with his Farscape One module.

"I would've gotten there…" Furlow protested, intrigued in spite of her irritation. She got up from her command chair and rounded the table to look over Johnny's shoulder as he made more modifications to the blueprint they had been working on for the past three arns. Her arm brushed against his as she reached out, pointing at the new lines he had added to the representation of the hetch drive. "What does that do?"

Johnny moved rather quickly out of contact with her and replied, "Stabilizes the field that generates the wormhole."

"Huh." Furlow leaned in for a closer look. "Some sort of a phase stabilizer?" she asked.

"Um, sure. I never thought about what to call it, but that's as good a term as any." He shrugged, tossing the stylus to the table. It rolled a few denches when it hit, but stopped just short of rolling off.

"That must be what they were missing…" Her words trailed off, barely audible even in the quiet of her ship. She had hacked into every Peacekeeper database she could find for the past two and half cycles, looking for anything, any slip of information, that might help her stabilize a wormhole so that she could fly through without fear of being liquefied. After all, there was no profit in creating a wormhole if everyone who flew through it turned to mush, but none of the information she had been able to access had been useful in that regard.

"Missing?" Johnny sat back down in his chair again, rubbing his hands across tired blue eyes.

"Well…yeah." Furlow sought to cover her tracks out of pure instinct. John Crichton was definitely the type of man who would try to sabotage her plans if he thought they might become a threat to anyone else. If he found out that she had spoken to both Peacekeepers and Scarrans about wormholes… "From that data chip you gave me. You know, back when I saved your ship from the scrapyard."

"Saved my ship…?" One eyebrow arched over a beautiful blue eye, distracting her for a microt. "In your dreams, Furlow," he continued. "There was nothing wrong with my module that I couldn't have fixed myself."

"Maybe, Johnny, but I'm the one who had the equipment."

He shook his head, conceding her point. Leaning forward in the chair, which he had pushed back from the table, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, John asked, "You found your Leviathan-made hetch on Relkor, but did you come across any of the other parts you'll need?"

She shrugged. "Most of 'em. I figure what I didn't find there, I ought to be able to find in the Leviathan burial space."

"You're going to loot a bunch of dead or dying ships?" Johnny's upper lip curled in disgust – a fascinating display, she thought.

"Why not? They won't be needing 'em anymore. It's not like I'm going to be killing off any healthy ships."

"Damn, Furlow, you are a real piece of work, you know that?"

"Didn't know you were so squeamish, Johnny-boy." Surprisingly, she found she didn't care for his obvious disapproval, so she turned her back on it, returning to the blueprints for the Farscape Two.

xxx

Having nothing better to do at that microt – all of Rohvu's systems checked out and there was nothing more threatening in the forward viewscreen than a distant nebula – Reyna Val sat back and watched her mate as he took apart a pulse pistol. They were in Command, as it was her turn on watch, and Tokar was theoretically there to keep her company, although he was currently ignoring her.

"Isn't that Crichton's?" Her question abruptly broke the relative silence and caused Tokar to drop something on the table, but he caught it before it went too far. "Sorry."

"Not a problem, love." He plugged the runaway piece into the grip of the pistol. "Yes, it's Crichton's. It's been giving him some problems and he asked me to take a look at it."

"Oh."

Tokar went back to working on the errant pulse pistol, leaving her again to her own devices. He was always so focused when he had a project – especially one that dealt with any kind of weapon. She smiled at him fondly, watching his nimble fingers reassemble the complex weapon as though it were the simplest child's toy.

Reyna allowed her attention to stray from Tokar and his project, her eyes wandering over Command until they focused on the glowing green button that had recently been added to the main console.

Over the last few days, they had done some brainstorming as a group to determine not only their best course of action for returning to the lives that had been disrupted, but also for their own immediate survival in the face of their ship being bent on his own destruction. Furlow's ship might look like a Peacekeeper Marauder, but it didn't have the long-range capabilities they needed, as far out as they were now.

Since Furlow's ship wasn't an option, one of the things they had done was to rig what John Crichton called a "failsafe" into Rohvu's manual controls. So long as the switch here in Command and a similar one they had installed on Pilot's control console remained green, Rohvu's systems were functioning appropriately. If they turned red, then Rohvu was actively doing something to act on his self-destructive tendencies. Anyone in either Command or in Pilot's den could stop whatever Rohvu was doing by hitting the switch, allowing them the time needed to take manual control of the ship.

"Tokar?"

He lifted his head, focusing his dark eyes on her. "Reyna."

"Crichton's failsafe…"

"What about it?"

"I'm a bit puzzled. I thought that all one had to do to take manual control of the ship was to activate the manual controls from the main console."

Tokar Rhee set down the partially reassembled pulse pistol and leaned back in his chair. "Well, Rey, that's true for maneuvering using manual controls, but not for actually controlling the ship's systems. The switch isn't so much for piloting him as it is to take his entire consciousness out of the loop."

"Pilot can't do that on his own?"

"No. The Leviathan-Pilot relationship isn't designed for that. Neither being is supposed to be capable of actually controlling the other."

"I suppose that makes sense." She shook her head. "I wonder what I was doing during that part of the discussion?"

Tokar shot her a lopsided grin. "Sleeping, if I recall," he teased.

She laughed. It was a running joke between them that if the subject of any meeting or discussion wasn't something she could medicate or cut up and stitch back together, then she'd be hard-pressed to stay awake for it.

xxx

She sat in the middle of her bed, arms wrapped tightly around upthrust knees, cheek resting on the sharp angle they created. She rocked back and forth, back and forth, and tried to think of nothing, but it wasn't working. Every time Chiana tried to empty her mind, images, feelings, fears all invaded, charging past every defense.

Even now, as she rocked and tried to just simply _be_, images of John and D'Argo and Jool seen through a haze of green and pink light kept hammering at her. She began to hum tunelessly, just to give herself something to listen to, something that might distract her from the feelings that she was possessed by something else, that she wasn't Chiana anymore.

She shook her head and shut her eyes tightly, blocking out all traces of ambient light and hummed a little more loudly, the volume increasing until she sprang from the bed with an angry cry. "Frell!"

Without a break in momentum, Chiana pounded her palm against the door control – unnecessary, but somehow satisfying – and burst through the door, running away from the fears and the images and the voices in her head. She didn't know where she was headed other than _away_.

xxx

Several microts later, Chiana found herself at the door to the center chamber. She started to wave her hand over the control, wanting something to wet her dry throat, but paused, hearing voices on the other side of the door. Backing away, she leaned against the opposite wall, breathing deeply. She felt the minute vibrations of the living ship, felt Rohvu's warmth against her back through the cloth of her tunic, and felt strangely comforted. For just a few microts, hearing Crichton's muffled voice through the door to the center chamber, she could almost convince herself that she was back on Moya, safe.

"Fekkik," she said, pounding her idiot head once against the wall for emphasis before pushing off and opening the door.

xxx

The door behind John swung open just as he popped a blue food cube into his mouth. Chewing it as though it were a bite of the finest sirloin steak, rather than something closer to the texture and taste of Playdoh, he turned his head enough to see who the newcomer might be.

"Hey, Crichton, how's it hangin'?" Chiana said as she bopped into the room.

He swallowed his lump of Playdoh and replied, "Do you even know what that means, Pip?"

In response, she just raised smirked at him and swung a chair around, straddling it so she could prop her arms up on the back of the chair. Furlow watched the interplay with keen interest.

"Never mind. Of course you do." He took a swallow of Tang and returned to the interrupted conversation. "I dunno, Furlow, there's just something about the idea of looting spare parts from the burial space that feels like, well, looting."

"Looting is bad for business, Johnny. Disruptive. Unprofitable. Since I doubt there's anyone carrying on much business in a Leviathan graveyard and the ships there aren't able to use their parts anymore, don't think of it as looting. Think of it as more of an acquisition."

He shot a sour look Furlow's way and noticed that Chiana, sitting next to her, was staring at the entrepreneur with an expression of distaste. "Chi?"

Her black eyes cleared a bit as she looked over at him. "Are we going to raid the burial space?"

"Since we're headed there anyway," Furlow replied, "we might as well take advantage of the situation."

Chiana cocked her head, returning her attention to the self-styled businesswoman. "I'm all about taking advantage, oh Queen of Acquisitions, but not of the dead or dying."

"What are you two? A couple of priests?" Furlow popped an orange food cube into her mouth, chewing as she continued, "We're not stealing from anyone. We're not taking anything that'll be missed."

"Well, that makes everything just hunky dory, doesn't it?" John drawled sarcastically.

"I don't generally have a problem with stealing, Furlow, it's just…it's just that some of my best friends are Leviathans." Chiana reached over the table and stole a cube from John's plate.

"All I'm saying is we get a couple of DRDs from a Leviathan in the burial space, maybe a few more spare parts that you've got to admit this old beast could use, transfer some calorics from one that's still alive, and Rohvu here's back in business." Furlow shifted back from the table a bit so that she could see both John and Chiana.

"Sort of a blood transfusion," John said. That did make some sense, so long as the donor wasn't dying of some sort of disease that could be transmitted to Rohvu. And they could certainly use a DRD or two to help get some of his systems back on line, provided they could get him to accept a transfusion. "I suppose we could ask permission to board, make sure the Leviathan and his or her Pilot know the situation…"

"More like us asking for help, than taking something by force," Chiana added, again reaching over the table, this time to grab at his cup of Tang.

"Hey! Get your own snack!" John pulled the cup out of reach.

Chiana shrugged and stood. "What's that on your hand, Crichton?" she asked as she wandered over to the refrigeration unit.

"On my hand? Don't drink out of the container, this time," he ordered, looking down at his left hand, which was covered in notations.

"You're not my mother, Crichton." With exaggerated movements, she poured the liquid into a cup. "Your hand?"

"The writing? Furlow and I were working on the plans for the Farscape Two and I was hit with a thought about wormholes. Didn't want to frell the blueprint with the equation, so I wrote it on my hand."

"Won't _you_ be frelled now, if you wash your hand?" she teased.

John snorted. "I'll transfer it to flimsy when I get back to my room." He swallowed the rest of his Tang and stood. "Which I'd better do now, or I'll be late relieving Reyna."

xxx

"Pi…lot?"

Belima's tentative voice came to him through the darkness. "Yes, Belima?"

Pilot had turned down the lights in his den earlier, as much to save some of Rohvu's power as to test the control he had over his newly regrown arms, just long enough now to reach the closest controls on his console. He reached out now to bring the lights back up to their normal level, allowing him to see the Sebacean as she clung to the doorway directly across from the front of his console, clearly afraid to come any further into the room.

"Belima sorry, Pi-lot."

As she was unarmed and he now had the means to call for help if it became necessary, he wasn't worried. Much. "You may enter, Belima."

He watched her as she slowly walked across the catwalk toward him, careful to stay in the center of the walkway. Considering the fall she had taken from these same catwalks not so long ago, he thought he understood her trepidation.

When she reached his console, she simply stood there for a few microts, staring at one of his arms. The appendages were still soft and pinkish, the carapace not yet having hardened to its darker shade, since the arms themselves still had several more days of aching growth. She gingerly reached out one hand and Pilot held himself still, trying hard not to jerk away from her as she gently stroked a claw. "Belima sorry," she repeated.

Seeing the genuine contrition in her green eyes, her gentle touch feeling more like that of Crichton or Chiana than the Xarai that Belima had once been, Pilot allowed himself to relax. Not knowing how much the girl understood – the repeated twinnings had brought the Xarai to the level of animals during Kaarvok's reign – Pilot told her, "I do not condemn you, Belima. Rohvu and I understand what it is to be starving." He turned the claw over, covering her hand.

She smiled at him, the expression as tentative as her voice had been earlier. She nodded once, pulled her hand gently from under his claw, and turned, retracing her steps across the catwalk.

Pilot watched her go. When she had been gone for a hundred microts, he reached out and reduced the chamber's lights again. "Ahh, Rohvu, I wish you could understand that you, that _we_ are not alone." Rohvu had not responded to anything through their link in days, but now Pilot felt a brief surge of affection from the Leviathan, reminding him of the days many cycles ago, before they had ever heard of Peacekeepers. For the first time since Rohvu had cut himself off from their link, Pilot felt hope.

xxx

_Another day, another dollar. Or something like that. Not much has happened since I last wrote. Tokar, Furlow and I got a failsafe switch installed into Rohvu's main computers that should allow us to completely take control, if it becomes necessary. I hope it never has to be used._

_I have no idea what you'd make of Rohvu and his Pilot, Aeryn. Pilot's got a lot in common with Moya's Pilot, but Rohvu is so different from Moya, I'm not sure there's much to compare. Poor guy's been through so much, I'm not sure he'll ever fully recover, even if we can convince him not to kill himself. Pilot told me, though, that he finally picked up some of Rohvu's emotions through their link today, and they weren't negative, so maybe there's some hope._

_Furlow and I spent some time working on blueprints for a new Farscape module (I know how much respect and love you have for the Farscape One…). In some ways, that woman scares me. She has this amazing mind, but I don't think she has a moral bone in her body._

_She's got this idea that Leviathan-made parts, organic or semi-organic, help to shield the pilot from the effects of wormholes. During some of her early research into designing a ship, she learned that previous experiments, even if they produced a viable wormhole, were considered failures because of the little problem of the pilots turning to goo. My Farscape One is the only ship she knows of where that didn't happen. Even though I pointed out to her that I didn't have access (or knowledge of) any Leviathans when I built her, I think she's onto something with this theory._

_Speaking of organic parts, Winona jammed on me during a firefight not too long ago, so I had Tokar Rhee – ex-PK grunt who served under dear Bialar, said he never met you, but he had heard of you – take a look at her. He's kind of an arms dealer/mercenary right now, a weapons expert. Says she doesn't look right to him, like the pieces weren't machined properly, but without instrumentation he couldn't measure anything to tell me exactly what was wrong. Sounds to me more and more like she was twinned and that the process wasn't nearly as perfect as good ol' Kaarvok seemed to think._

_What does that say about me? Or Chi?_

On that happy note, John laid his stylus down on the flimsy. "Damn, I've got to stop doing that to myself at bed time," he said aloud.

Shaking his head, he stood up and headed over to the bed. Stripping down to t-shirt and underwear, he punched his makeshift pillow into a comfortable shape and flopped back onto his bunk. Tired as he was, he was asleep in minutes.

xxx

John could hear nothing but his own breathing, the sound redoubled by the helmet of his EVA suit. In the middle of a space-walk – which should have been in _space_, hence the name – he approached a wall of…he wasn't sure what it was made of. It looked vaguely organic and, well, nasty, really. Spongy and soft.

"Okay, I'm there. Man, you guys should see this ugly, sticky flesh. Kinda like my Aunt Ruth's special jello."

And then he was no longer looking at ugly, sticky flesh, no longer outside a ship at all, but rather he was in Pilot's den. Not Pilot's den as it was now. Not Pilot's den on Moya, either. Pilot's den on Rohvu, as it was weeks ago, dark and filled with ugly, nasty things, filled with Xarai, holding back in deference to their master. Their master, whom John currently had in a death grip, the sticker thingie the bastard used to suck out his victim's brains just inches from Kaarvok's ugly, sticky face as well as his own. John couldn't let Kaarvok use it on him.

"What the hell you still doin' here, Karvee?" John asked, using all his strength to keep that sticker from approaching any closer. "I thought we killed your ugly ass?" he asked, momentarily disoriented and confused.

"Others will come," Kaarvok replied, voice dripping with his insanity. "More and more of you will come. To me, to my family, my farmland. My…my perfect, perfect dish."

John fought back a surge of nausea. He could hear the Xarai whispering and scurrying all around them.

"Crichton?!" D'Argo's voice cut like his Qualta blade through the white noise of the Xarai.

"D'Argo," John whispered. D'Argo was dead. No, wait, not dead, just not on Rohvu.

Kaarvok, still pinning John to Pilot's console, looked back over his shoulder toward the sound of D'Argo's voice. During the momentary distraction, John shoved for all he was worth, finally managing to break free of Kaarvok. He jammed the sticker down into a soft, rotten spot in Pilot's control console and jumped away, looking over to a group of Xarai.

"Hey, kids! It's dinnertime and it's finger-lickin' good." As he watched, the Xarai jumped hungrily on Kaarvok. The device on Karvee's arm began to glow, brighter and brighter as they bore him down and John turned away to run across the catwalk and, hopefully, to escape from the this insane ship.

Before he even made it to the catwalk, though, he was hit by something from behind. Something that knocked him from his feet and tore him into pieces, screaming.

xxx

John woke screaming, sitting upright in his bed in his quarters on Rohvu. Gripping one arm tightly enough that his fingernails drew blood, he was able to get a grip on his terror. "God." He had forgotten – or blocked – what it felt like to be twinned. He wished he didn't remember it now.

"Crichton!" Chiana skidded to an abrupt stop at his door. "Was that you? Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, Pip. Just a nightmare."

"Can I…can I come in?" She sounded a little unsure of herself.

"Yeah, Pip, it's not locked." He swung his feet from the bed to the floor, keeping the blanket covering his legs as she sat down on the bed next to him, their arms touching.

Chiana didn't say a word as she lay her head on John's shoulder. Her hair smelled good. Clean. He needed clean after that damn dream. He reached an arm around her shoulders and just held her, he didn't know for how long, letting her warmth soak into him, trying to let the – dream, memory, whatever it was – go.

Chiana turned a little in his arms, lifting her head from his shoulder to look at him. He couldn't really see her in the darkness, but he could see the faint glitter of her space black eyes in what little light leaked into the room.

John inhaled sharply and held his breath when he felt her teeth nip at the point of his jaw, just below his ear. His whole body stiffened when he felt the feather touch of her breath on his mouth, just before she kissed him.

Before he could kiss her back – from the signals his body was sending him, it would be more than just a kiss – he leaped away from her, stumbling over one of his boots in the darkness. "No! No, we will not do this."

"Why not?" She sounded breathless.

"Because I…you…we—" He couldn't think of a single logical thing to say. Couldn't think at all, really.

He heard her stand and walk to the still-open door. "I'm not your sister, Crichton," she threw back at him as she walked away.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Left Behind, Chapter 15**

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Just as she had done in the corridor outside the center chamber when she had heard Crichton's voice through the closed door, Chiana pounded her head against the wall, this time in her own quarters. She hadn't meant anything, she had just gone to his quarters to make sure he was okay – how could it have gone so wrong?

She had been on the edge of sleep when she had heard Crichton screaming. It had scared the hezmana out of her when she'd realized that the sound was real, not a carryover from the dream she'd been slipping in and out of. A dream that consisted mostly of sensations. Sensations that had involved Crichton. She thought the setting might have been on Moya, but a part of Moya that she had never seen before, filled with golden skin and blue light.

Torn from her dream, one that might have become pleasant save for the feeling that she had not been in control of her own body, she had run headlong down the corridor to Crichton's cell, shouting his name. He had more or less invited her in, saying that he'd had a "nytmaer," whatever that was. She had sat next to him on his bed – probably her first mistake, given her dream – and the next thing she knew, still feeling like she had been in a dream, she was kissing him. Kissing Crichton.

Even with her regrets at what she had done, Chiana was a bit tinked that he had been so quick to put distance between them. It wasn't as if he hadn't responded to her at all. That distance had been enough to break whatever spell she had been under, though. Embarrassed, angry with herself and at him, she had flung the first thing at him that she could think of and tried to walk calmly away from him, not wanting to further embarrass herself by running. Of course, she _had_ run just as soon as she was sure he could neither see nor hear her flight.

"I'm not your sister, Crichton," she repeated aloud, alone in her cell. It bothered her sometimes, even when she had been with D'Argo, that Crichton never seemed to see her as anything but his little sister. There had been the time when they had all been under the influence of T'raltixx…. That incident had shocked her and even frightened her a little – Crichton had been truly violent, something she had never seen before, certainly not directed at her or anyone else on Moya.

Crichton. He was the first person besides Nerri who had never wanted anything from her and now she may have done something unforgivable. How could she face him? Flopping back on her bed, she flung an arm over her eyes. _Well, I guess that's easy enough_, she thought, _I'll just…just pretend it never happened, just like we all did back then_. She thanked Zhaan's goddess that Aeryn wasn't here. If Aeryn ever found out about that kiss, Chiana wouldn't have to worry at all about facing Crichton, because Aeryn would kill her.

xxx

John sat at the table in the center chamber, where he had retreated following his nightmare and its unsettling aftermath. Everything aboard Rohvu seemed to center on this room or Pilot's den; John had come here because it was where he felt most comfortable and he wanted to be alone, but not in his own room. He had been here for he didn't know how long, staring at the refrigeration unit without seeing it, consciously trying to keep his mind a blank – something he couldn't seem to do when he was asleep anymore. For once, Harvey was keeping his big mouth shut.

_Bastard's probably asleep_, he thought sourly.

Idly running through calculations in his mind that he thought, in his current state of mental and physical exhaustion, might work equally well for either a still or a wormhole, he didn't notice when Reyna entered the room.

"Are you all right, John? You look…troubled."

Consciousness abruptly pulled back to the here and now by Reyna's raspy voice above his head, John raised blue eyes that felt as though they were on fire, focusing his attention on the ex-Peacekeeper, so different from the other ex-Peacekeepers he knew. She never seemed to have to work at compassion, it was just a natural part of her personality. Not for the first time, he wondered how she had gotten that scar across her cheek and throat.

"John?" Reyna repeated, frowning, as she sat down across from him.

"Sorry, Reyna. Guess I kinda zoned there for a minute." He leaned back in his chair and closed burning eyes.

"Is something the matter?"

Opening his eyes again – closing them hadn't lessened the burning sensation as he had hoped – he quipped, "Pretty much everything."

Nothing but concern in her dark eyes and in her voice, she reached across the table and trapped his left hand, her touch cool. "Do you want to talk?"

"Nah, Reyna, I'm fine. I've just got some things I've got to work out in my mind."

She leaned back, releasing his hand. "If you change your mind…" She started to stand up, but John stopped her.

"You know what? Maybe I do need someone to talk to. Someone who doesn't have a stake in anything." As she settled back into her chair, John stood up and headed over to the refrigeration unit he'd been staring at, snagging a couple of glasses on the way. "You want any Tang?" he asked.

"Some water would be nice, thank you."

"No problem." He poured himself a glass of Tang and filled the second glass with water, gathering his thoughts.

As he returned to his seat, drinks in hand, Reyna said, "You're still not sleeping, are you?"

He looked at her through narrowed eyes as he sat. "How do you know that? I didn't think I'd mentioned it."

"Chiana told me. Not that I can't see it for myself in your eyes and your movements," she replied, her tone amused. The concern returned to her voice as she continued, "We did find some sleeping powder in Rohvu's medical supplies, if you'd like to try them. Although I'm not sure how your body will react, since you're not Sebacean…"

"Maybe." John took a swig of Tang, reluctant to talk now that he had made the decision. "Chiana…" _God, what's going to happen there?_ he thought. Reyna was smart and, as he had already noted, compassionate. He didn't know what Chiana might have told her about themselves, their past, or about what had happened aboard Rohvu, but he thought she might be able to kickstart some different avenues of thought for him. Something, anything, that might help him to stop chasing his tail in regard to whether or not he wanted to find Moya again, to risk learning for certain that there was more than one of him. Giving himself a mental kick in the ass, he took a deep breath and started talking.

xxx

Belima sat in the dark corridor outside of the place the others called "command," silently watching the round beige woman as she alternated between pacing and drawing. Belima had spoken to all of the others, or at least she had tried to. Words came so easily to Crichton, but they had never come easily to Belima, not in the before times and not now. They were all so patient with her, though, helping her with the words she needed to be able to exist among them, but she had not tried to talk to the beige woman yet. She was a little afraid to – the beige woman wasn't as nice as the others.

For some reason, the beige woman made her uneasy. Maybe it was her nearly colorless eyes that just seemed to look right through Belima, as if she wasn't worthy of being noticed. Or maybe it was the way she watched Crichton whenever they were in the same room. It could even be because Belima sensed the beige woman was not really their friend, the way Tokar and his mate were. She didn't even know the beige woman's name.

So, here she was, venturing out of her comfortable home, trying to work up the nerve to talk to this strange woman. Belima knew that Crichton was helping her to build something, although they had done nothing yet but put lines on a "flim-zee." That's what she thought the beige woman was doing right now, having again paused in her pacing. Belima felt that she might be able to help them, if they'd let her, at least once they were done drawing and began building. More and more, as she understood more words and as the days brought her further and further away from the fear, she had been remembering bits and pieces of the before times.

She thought these memories must be from before Kaarvok had come, but she wasn't sure. She remembered the feel of metal in her hands, the feel of straining muscles as she pushed and pulled at that metal, trying to tighten something that joined pieces of something more complicated together, but she couldn't remember what anything was called.

Trying to remember always made Belima's head hurt, as it was starting to hurt now. When the beige woman again began to pace, Belima pushed herself up from the floor and made her way back to her home. She wouldn't be talking to the strange woman today.

xxx

Reyna Val watched John Crichton's face as he spoke, sometimes having to strain to hear his words when he spoke of the things that caused him the most distress. Although she had been trained only as a med tech – one among many on a command carrier – she had learned to be much more over the cycles since she and Tokar had left Peacekeeper service. For instance, she knew from watching John now, watching his haggard face, seeing the blue shadows under his eyes, hearing the abrupt changes in his voice from near-despair to almost-mania, that John was nearing a breaking point. And from the things he had told her so far, she was surprised he hadn't broken before now.

She didn't understand all of what he told her and some of it she would have to run past Tokar when she saw him next, get his opinion of John's story. John had told her of his arrival in this quadrant of the galaxy and his feud with Captain Bialar Crais. He had told her of Moya and his friends there, especially Officer Aeryn Sun, although what Reyna thought she knew of John's relationship with Sun she had gleaned more from what he hadn't said than what he had – he had spoken much more freely of Zhaan and D'Argo and Rygel than of Officer Sun. He had spoken of Scorpius and of wormholes and of torture, of princesses and Scarrans and shadow depositories. Just as he had only a few words for Aeryn Sun, he had only a few words to describe the recent death of his friend Zhaan, which was how Reyna knew what Sun must mean to him.

In spite of some of the disturbing things she had already heard, what he spoke of now might be the most disturbing of all, and it explained many of the things she and Tokar had seen since joining this odd little crew.

"They were eating him, you know?" John's voice had taken on a hollow quality. "Both of them. The Xarai, we saw evidence that they were cutting pieces from Rohvu's ribs, but that was before we stumbled across Pilot's den and found that they had taken his arms." He paused in his tale, seeming to be lost in his memories. She didn't interrupt him, knowing that he needed to get this out, to stop it from eating away at him.

"Anyway, Reyna, the Xarai were pretty sick puppies." John's blue eyes were a little clearer now. "Jool stayed behind on the transport pod, so I don't know what happened to her, but D'Argo, Chiana, and me… The three of us searched as much of the ship as we could, looking for those damn coils. That's how we met Kaarvok."

"Belima and Pilot have both mentioned that name."

"Yeah, Kaarvok was the big bad. So dangerous that an entire Leviathan and his crew was devoted to transporting him to some maximum security prison for the criminally insane. Why they didn't just kill that monster when they had the chance, I don't know."

There was the creak of leather as John rose, taking their glasses over to the refrigeration unit. He refilled them, both with water, and returned to his chair. "Kaarvok twinned people," John said matter-of-factly as he handed back her glass.

"Twinned?" she asked, taking a sip.

"He had this…device…strapped to his arm. It shot out some kind of beam that wrapped you up and…" He took a large swig of water. "A bubble formed around you and then there was this…tearing, like you're being torn apart, and suddenly you're not quite so unique in the universe as you once were."

"He made two of you?" She watched as John's eyebrows raised at the skepticism in her voice.

"Two of me, two of Chiana, two of D'Argo, who knows how many of Belima. All supposedly equal and original."

Reyna shook her head, not sure if she believed what John was telling her, but knowing that he certainly believed it. And there was the evidence of Pilot's half-grown arms and the scars on Rohvu's bulkheads… "Why?"

John laughed, a bitter sound. "Why did he do it? Kaarvok was a nutcase. He twinned the Peacekeepers that were aboard this ship, he sucked out their brains, and then he threw what was left to his Xarai. The Xarai were what those Peacekeepers became after he twinned them over and over and over… As far as the Xarai were concerned? What was left after Kaarvey sucked their brains out was grade A-1 Omaha beef. Yum."

"Are you telling me that they…_ate_ each other? These twins that he created?"

"Ding ding ding ding ding! Give the lady a prize."

"Oh, my." Reyna was horrified. "You say this happened to you and to Chiana? This twinning?"

"I'm certain it happened to Chi. I…think it probably happened to me, too. I think that's where the nightmares are coming from, why I haven't been able to sleep." When she didn't say anything, he looked up at her. "I found Chi's body in one of the corridors. Later, I also saw her get on that transport pod before it raced outta here."

"That means that there are three of her."

"At least. And I'm pretty sure there's at least one more of me. No one ever came looking for us."

"Would they have?"

"Oh, yes." He didn't expand on his answer and she didn't push him to.

"You said that your…nytmaers? That they are what make you believe that you had also been twinned."

John snorted. "Nightmares. It's a kind of dream, but one that can scare the life out of you. The nightmares have been getting more…real. This last one, I was fighting with Kaarvok in Pilot's den. He had this sticker thingie that he used to suck out his victim's brain. I wrestled it away from him and stuck it into him, but I guess my aim wasn't good enough to kill him right away. As I was running across the catwalk, he was able to work his magic and I was caught by that beam." As though unable to contain a surge of energy, reliving that terrifying situation, he jumped from the table and began to pace as continued.

"Next thing I know, I'm laying flat on my stomach, Winona, here," he gestured to his pulse pistol, strapped to his leather-clad thigh, "still in my hand. I scrambled back to my feet, started to run again, and tripped over Winona in the middle of the catwalk. But! When I tripped, I still had her in my hand. When I hit the catwalk, she flew outta my hand and over the edge into the muck at the bottom of Pilot's den. I could hear starburst struggling to happen behind me, so I grabbed the pistol that was still on the catwalk and ran. I didn't stop running until I got to the hangar and saw the transport pod leave without me."

John stopped pacing and stopped next to her, fingertips resting on the table's surface. "So you see, Rey, we don't know if we're the originals or copies, me and Chi."

She looked up at him. "But if this Kaarvok was right about equal and original—"

John cut her off. "My pulse pistol isn't working right. We found D'Argo's Qualta Blade, but it didn't work right, either. And Belima…"

"Well, John, I don't know what to say about Belima, since I didn't know her before this Kaarvok, but perhaps your pulse pistol and your friend's blade weren't 'twinned' exactly because they're inorganic. Perhaps the process only works correctly on living things."

John's brow furrowed in thought and Reyna remained silent, allowing him to work through it. She didn't mind the silence, herself, since it gave her some time to absorb the amazing story he had told her over the past couple of arns.

"Okay," he said after returning to his seat and draining the rest of his water. "Maybe there's something to that. The Qualta didn't work at all, but it was made up entirely of metal and circuitry, as far as I know. Winona works most of the time, but Tokar said her parts didn't seem to be put together quite right. Maybe her metal parts didn't twin properly, but the chakan oil did, because it's organic, from tannot root."

"You don't sound like you believe that, John."

"That would be because I don't," he replied with a small smile. "Who am I kidding, Reyna? I'm just grasping at straws, here. Just because I lost my pulse pistol and grabbed another one that doesn't work doesn't prove anything one way or the other."

"Does it matter so much? Whether you're the original or a twin?"

"No, I suppose it doesn't…"

Again, he didn't sound as though he believed it. Reyna reached over to touch John's hand in sympathy. "John, you really do look awful."

"Gee, thanks," he shot back at her with sarcasm.

She laughed. "Why don't I get you some of that sleeping powder?"

"What the hell. Guess it can't hurt."

xxx

John followed Reyna from the center chamber to sick bay – "sick bay" sounded much better to him than "medical facility." Too bad Dr. McCoy wasn't around, but then again, Reyna was a lot better looking and didn't whine about not being a mechanic or whatever.

Damn, he needed some sleep. His frelling brain was all over the map.

Reyna waved the door open and entered, just as Pilot's voice came to him over his comms. "John?"

"Yeah, Pilot?"

"We have arrived at the burial space."


	16. Chapter Sixteen

John Crichton stared out from Rohvu's observation deck at the panorama displayed before him. Normally, this area would be closed off due to a lack of atmosphere, but, following Pilot's announcement of their arrival at the Leviathan burial space and his estimate of the time it would take to find an appropriate candidate, John had returned to his quarters with the sleeping powder Reyna had given him and donned his borrowed EVA suit in preparation for rummaging through dead Leviathans. Since he didn't feel like talking to anyone and no one but Pip would even think to look for him here, here he sat, watching, as Rohvu approached a dead ship, drifting dull gold and at peace against a backdrop of glittering stars. Watching that dead Leviathan, John found it more difficult than he had thought it would be to steel himself for what was to come.

The plan was to get within short-range scanning distance and, once they verified that the Leviathan was indeed dead, he, Tokar, and Furlow would take a quick trip over in Furlow's fake-a-Marauder. The three of them would then go through the ship and salvage whatever they could find. He was pretty sure Furlow would snag anything that wasn't nailed down so she could sell it later - the greed had been evident in her voice every time the burial space was mentioned over the past few solar days.

"John," Pilot's voice buzzed over his comms, derailing his train of thought.

"Yeah, Pilot."

"The scans are complete, John. She is, indeed, dead and Furlow and Tokar are ready to depart."

"Thanks, Pilot, I'll be right there."

She. Knowing that the Leviathan they would be looting first was female made the resemblance to Moya even more strong. John sat on the observation deck - what he had dubbed the "terrace" on Moya - for a couple of minutes more, watching the old girl drift before glancing down at his dull black EVA suit, borrowed from Furlow and not yet returned since his last vacuum-walk. "John Crichton, murderer, thief, and now grave robber. Wouldn't Dad be proud?"

xxx

_"You be careful over there, Old Man..."_

Chiana's parting words, whispered to him as he boarded Furlow's ship, still rang in John's ears, drowning out the sound of his own breathing doubling back at him within the confines of his helmet. He understood the wisp of fear underlying her words - neither of them could help but remember vividly the last time they had set foot on what had appeared to be a dead Leviathan. She had stepped back from him as soon as she had said it, almost as if afraid to touch him. For that matter, maybe she was a little afraid to touch him, after their last encounter. He and Pip were definitely going to have to have a little talk.

His booted foot hit something solid and he looked down to find a DRD, blue in color but otherwise identical to those running around on Moya. Squatting down, he picked up the lifeless mechanoid, bringing it nearer to his face for a closer look.

A quick visual inspection showed no noticeable damage, nothing that would not be considered normal wear and tear. It had probably simply stopped functioning when the Leviathan's systems had shut down in death. John carefully placed the dormant DRD in the bag he carried slung over his back. Hopefully, this and any other DRDs they came across could be adapted to Rohvu's systems.

He continued to move cautiously through the ship, heading toward what past experience indicated would be the central maintenance bay. While John looked for DRDs and tools in maintenance, Furlow would be searching the main hangar in which they had landed as well as the transport pod hangars, and Tokar was to head for the armory. John hadn't been surprised to learn that Furlow's beige jumpsuit was actually an EVA suit, even though she had never volunteered that little tidbit of information when he and Tokar had done all the work in Rohvu's vacuum-filled tiers. Furlow was Furlow and, though Harvey had his own agenda in mind when he had warned John against her weeks ago, that didn't mean that the neural clone was wrong about not trusting her.

Two tiers and several minutes later, having found nothing else of use along the way, John reached the central maintenance bay, pretty much where they had expected it to be. Leviathans developed according to the needs of their crew and both of the Leviathans he had been on had at one time been Peacekeeper prison transports. The scars on the outer hull of this one indicated that she had also once worn a control collar in service to the Peacekeepers.

Inside the maintenance bay, he found several more defunct DRDs, which he placed carefully in the bag with the first one. Surveying the dark room, the lights of his helmet reflecting back at him from surfaces here and there, he walked over to the main workbench and poked around through some of the bins hooked into the wall above. They would need various pieces parts to get the DRDs running again, and maybe he could find enough spare parts in these bins to build additional DRDs.

He unhooked and set aside the bins he wanted and commed Furlow. "Furlow, sweetheart, how 'bout you bring me a couple crates and a dolly?" He almost winced when he called her sweetheart, but, as Grandma Crichton always used to say, you get more flies with honey than with vinegar.

"What the frell is a 'dolly?'" She sounded irritated and a bit out of breath.

"Kind of a cart with wheels. You use it to carry heavy stuff."

"Well, aren't there any in the maintenance bay?"

"Nope. Not a one." If she didn't have one in her ship's stores, he'd have to go look for one in one of the cargo bays. Too bad he hadn't thought of a dolly before they'd gotten over here...

While he waited for Furlow's response, he continued his search, which yielded a box large enough to carry most of the smaller bins he wanted. "If you've got a dolly, Furlow, I've got the crate covered," he commed, pulling the empty box from the shelf where it resided to place it on the floor. He dragged it over to the workbench and began loading it.

xxx

Chiana stalked restlessly around Command, stopping every few microts to look again at the Leviathan drifting in the viewscreen. Crichton and the others had been gone for more than an arn already, not bothering to check in once in that entire time, at least not with her. She knew Pilot would comm her if anything happened, but still...

"Chia-na?"

The Nebari, not currently pacing, but rather stopped in front of the viewscreen, glanced over her shoulder and spotted Belima standing in the open doorway, one hand resting on the door itself. "Hey, Belima."

"Why you...?" Her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the word she wanted. When it wouldn't come to her, she pantomimed the action of walking, using her fingers to depict legs.

Cocking her head to one side, Chiana turned to face the girl. "Why am I...why am I pacing?" She shook her head, causing her hair to tickle the back of her neck. "I don't know, Bel, I just...I'd rather be over there." She made a sharp gesture with her head toward the viewscreen.

"Why you not?" Belima asked, stepping into the room to stand beside Chiana.

"Because there aren't enough EVA suits and there's no atmosphere on that ship." And so she was stuck here, with nothing to frelling do until the others returned. Reyna didn't want her help in the med facility, Pilot had asked her to leave his den earlier because she couldn't sit still, so she had come here, where she could at least watch out the viewscreen, even if there wasn't anything to see.

"Eee vee ay suit. At-mo-sphe-er." Belima tested the unfamiliar words, over-pronouncing each syllable. She looked a question at Chiana, who was glad for the distraction.

"An EVA suit is...is clothes that let you...let you breathe when there's no air." The blond head nodded as Belima concentrated on filing away what Chiana said. "Atmosphere is air."

"John and To-kar over there?" She pointed to the other Leviathan.

"Mm hmm." Chiana flopped down into the chair by the main control console, black eyes focused again on the derelict.

"They come back here?"

Chi rolled her head on the back of the chair to look at Belima. The girl had come a long way in the weekens they had been on Rohvu- it was hard to believe that the pretty blond girl she looked at now was the same creature that had followed Crichton around like a vorc for the first few days he and Chiana had been here.

"Yeah, Bel, they're coming back here. Soon, I hope." Black eyes returned to the view screen and its vista.

xxx

Reyna hummed a childhood tune as she moved about the medical facility, putting the various drugs and chemical components into a more logical order and, in the process, making room for anything that might be obtained from the stores of the Leviathans through which Tokar and the others searched. She had no idea what they might find, but Rohvu's medical stores were so depleted that just about anything would help. She made quick work of straightening and organizing, since half the work - inventory - had been done much earlier with Chiana's help.

Wiping down a countertop, a smile crossed her scarred face as she thought of the Nebari girl. Reyna had never known anyone like her. The girl was such a complicated mix of bravado and unease, impudence and reserve, and she thoroughly enjoyed Chiana's company. She thought she understood some of the apparent contradictions in Chiana's personality, given some of the things Crichton had told her of their experiences in the recent past, and she wanted to learn more about both her and Crichton.

Crichton, too, was an interesting specimen. Human, not Sebacean. The only outward difference between the two species wasn't even visual, but rather tactile - Crichton's skin exuded a warmth that was very different from the cool touch of a Sebacean.

"Reyna Val?" Pilot's voice interrupted over the comms, sounding puzzled.

"Yes, Pilot? Is anything the matter?"

"Rohvu's long-range scans have detected a faint signal. I am attempting to boost it as much as I am able, but it is still very faint. However, I have recognized what seem to be several mentions of yourself and Tokar Rhee in the transmission."

"Really?" Unless it was some kind of Peacekeeper wanted beacon, the only ones she could think of that might be discussing herself and Tokar would be their unit. "Pilot, the transmission could be from those who contacted us just before we left Relkor Station. If I were to give you a specific frequency to use, do you think that might help to clear up the signal, if this is indeed them?"

"Perhaps. The frequency that I am picking up is a variant of those used by the Peacekeepers when Rohvu and I were in service."

"How long ago was that?"

"Approximately two cycles."

"Peacekeeper transmission frequencies would have changed at least a dozen or more times in two cycles. That makes it an even stronger possibility that it may be Rashov." _That and the fact that our code is based on outdated Peacekeeper frequencies..._, she added to herself.

Discarding the rag she had been using to clean the med bay's surfaces, Reyna headed for the door. "Pilot, I'm finished here, for now." She looked around her med bay, at the now neat and orderly countertops, the newly scrubbed walls and floors. "If you don't mind, I'll come visit you."

xxx

_Haven't worked that hard in a grolchak's age_, Furlow thought as she lowered herself into her bunk. She was anxious to return to work on wormhole theories with Johnny - they had discussed some new ideas during the flights from one Leviathan to another - but she was just too tired and sore to get back to it right now. And they'd be at it again after the sleep cycle, since they'd finally found a living Leviathan, just before returning to Rohvu.

The dead Leviathans they had explored today had yielded DRDs and a handful of pulse weapons that Tokar had drooled over, but not much else. Oh, sure, they were able to haul back some spare parts for various mechanical Leviathan systems and even for making repairs to transport pods, but they hadn't found any of the frelling pods themselves, since most of them had broken down long since, when their parent Leviathan died. Not that she really gave a chorn's eema about transport pods - she couldn't get one back to DamBaDa on her own anyway - but Rhee had been running on about modifying one for long-range travel and getting back to his unit.

Furlow sighed in contentment, thinking about the drive component she had snurched from a workbench that would do just that for her own ship. Once installed, it ought to take her back to DamBaDa without a hitch, provided she could store enough fuel. The Peacekeeper hadn't realized what the device was when they were searching for parts and Johnny, who she was sure would've recognized it, hadn't been anywhere nearby.

She was just on the edge of sleep, visions dancing through her head of flying her Farscape Two down a wormhole, when Pilot's voice broke into her relaxed cocoon. "Furlow? Would you be available to assist me with a signal?"

She jerked awake, smacking one hand into a bulkhead. At first she thought it might have been hard enough to have broken a knuckle, but after a few microts she was able to move the pained joint.

"Furlow?"

"What is it, Pilot? I'm trying to get some sleep. Did you work out a deal with that other Pilot?"

"Not yet, Furlow. I apologize if I woke you, but I need your assistance to boost a transmission that Rohvu and I picked up earlier today."

Her interest piqued, Furlow asked, "What kind of transmission?"

"It was on a modified Peacekeeper frequency. I believe that it has something to do with Reyna Val and Tokar Rhee."

"Modded Peacekeeper frequency, huh?" She sat upright and swung her bare legs over the side of her bunk, simultaneously reaching for the puddle that was her jumpsuit, abandoned on the floor. "Send it through to my ship, Pilot, I'll go take a look at it and see what I can do."

xxx

Having forwarded the transmission to Furlow's ship, Pilot forced himself to contact the other ship, the only other living ship he had yet discovered in the sacred burial space.

"Elder, I give you good greeting." Pilot was unsure if his transmission would be received, not knowing how far gone toward death the nearby Leviathan might be, and was pleasantly surprised when his first attempt at communication was received.

"I accept your greeting, Youngling, and offer my own in return." The deep voice was wobbly, but otherwise strong. He had not been referred to as "youngling" in a very long time, but, given the size of the ship - at least three times greater than Rohvu - she must be quite elderly, just as her Pilot sounded to be.

"Your friend appears to be much too young to be here, at our sacred burial space..." Although he asked no questions, as that wouldn't be polite, still the question was inherent in the observation.

"Rohvu is indeed young, Elder, but he is near to death." Pilot hesitated, not knowing how to approach the subject of a transfusion. Deciding the best course was the most direct course, he plunged ahead. "That is why I have contacted you."

"Oh? How may I be of service, Youngling?"

"Elder, I beseech you. Rohvu is dying, but it is not yet his time. As you say, he is young. Young and sometimes impulsive." Again, Pilot hesitated, knowing that what he was about to request might mean the more-or-less immediate death of the other Pilot and his Leviathan companion, if they agreed.

"Go on," the older Pilot ordered, not unkindly.

"Rohvu vented most of his calorics."

"Deliberately?"

"Yes, Elder."

"But the Builders created Leviathans with safeguards against such a thing as suicide. Has that been circumvented?"

"Yes, Elder, I believe that it has. Not deliberately circumvented, but Rohvu and I have been in dire circumstances for nearly two cycles. I believe that the strain has overcome a good deal of his programming."

"I see. What is it that you want from Kala and myself, Youngling?"

"Kala?" Pilot repeated her name almost reverently. Kala and her Pilot were known to most Leviathans and their companions - Kala was one of the first Leviathans created by the Builders. "Never mind what we want, Elder. We have no right to ask."

"If I understand you, Youngling, understand what you have _not_ said, your Rohvu needs calorics to survive and heal and he can only get them from a living Leviathan, yes?"

"We have no right."

There was silence for several moments and Pilot thought that perhaps he should break the connection and move on, search for another who could help them, one not so revered. Before he could act on that thought, the Elder spoke again. "Perhaps you have no right, but it is my right to offer."

"You...would do that?"

"Kala and I are old, Youngling, old and in pain. My own pain is not so much, but Kala's is nearly unbearable, for her and for me." The old voice broke as he continued. "Kala will not let go. We came here ourselves to die more than half a cycle ago, but she will not let go."

Again there was silence for a time. "Youngling."

"Yes, Elder?" Pilot felt a surge of hope.

"Do you believe that your Rohvu will attempt suicide again?"

"Our small crew has modified his systems so that he cannot."

"Ahh... You are also responsible for the lives of those Rohvu carries."

"Yes, Elder."

"You and your crew may have whatever you need from us."

"Even if it causes your death, Elder?" The thought caused Pilot great distressand he feared that he had been unable to keep it out of his voice.

"Do not think of it so much as causing our death, Youngling, as causing our release from pain. I believe you and your Rohvu understand something of unending pain, yes?"

Before Pilot could say another word, the Elder broke off the transmission. Pilot closed his eyes, bowing his head in homage to Kala and her Pilot.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Left Behind, Chapter 17**

Reyna finished transcribing her notes regarding John's insomnia into Rohvu's medical computer. She wished she could've used the Leviathan's more powerful scanners during her examination of the Human, but Rohvu's energy levels were too low to allow for it, so, at least for now, she had to be satisfied with the limitations of her hand-held unit and her own notes. John had used the sleeping powder she had given him only once, so far, and all seemed to be well, but even so she suspected that he had exceeded the prescribed dosage. She'd have to keep an eye on that, since there was no baseline she could use in his treatment and no way of knowing how his Human body would react to the powder over time.

Reading back through her hand-written notes, Reyna compared them to the viewer. Once she was certain she hadn't missed anything, she'd shut things down here and head up to Command, where she would remain, monitoring Rohvu's systems, while the others went over to Kala to obtain more supplies and initiate the transfusion process. She would prefer to be there herself, rather than trusting Tokar or Chiana to obtain the necessary items from Kala's med bay, but someone had to stay here on Rohvu. It didn't necessarily have to be her, since monitoring the transfusion of fluids could be done as safely by an amateur mechanic as a trained med tech, but they had drawn straws and Reyna had drawn the short straw.

"Reyna?"

Reyna swiveled her chair toward the open doorway. "Yes, Furlow?" she responded, dark brows drawing into a concerned frown at the sight of the woman standing there, cradling one arm to her jumpsuit clad chest, her nearly colorless eyes watering from pain.

As Furlow entered the med bay, Reyna moved quickly over to her and led her to the chair she had just abandoned. Without a word, she gently pushed her into the chair and bent over her, reaching back without looking to pull the desk lamp closer to the edge where it could better illuminate the injury.

Gently, Reyna took Furlow's hand, purple and a bit swollen, and turned it, in the process both straightening the arm and eliciting a hiss of pain from her patient. "I'm sorry, Furlow…" She bent in closer to look at the swelling under the light.

"That's all right, Reyna." Her arm and hand relaxed a bit as Furlow settled back into the chair. "I think it's broken."

"Well, it certainly appears to be broken…" The med tech stood, carefully resting Furlow's arm, wrist and palm facing upward, on the arm of the chair. Reaching toward the other end of the desk, Reyna took hold of her portable medical scanner – the only piece of equipment she'd been able to rescue from her clinic on Relkor Station. She flicked it on with a practiced movement and ran it over Furlow's hand and wrist, but the results of the scan were inconclusive.

"How did this happen?" Reyna asked. The hand, with its swelling and bruising, looked to be broken, but the scanner detected no serious injury. Broken blood vessels and strained muscles, yes, but no break or fracture of any kind in the bone, nothing that could account for the level of swelling or the somewhat elevated temperature of the skin. She hadn't been able to fully recharge her scanner since they had arrived on Rohvu, though, so perhaps that might account for the readings.

"Oh, I was just dropping off to sleep a few arns ago, when Pilot commed me and pulled me out of it. Guess he startled me. I…" she sounded a bit sheepish. "I hit it on the bulkhead next to my bed. I didn't think anything of it 'til I woke up."

Reyna shook her head, dark hair swaying slightly with the movement. "That must have been some hit." She took the swollen hand in hers, then ran a finger down the knuckles, where the worst of the bruising appeared to be. Furlow pulled her hand back with another hiss. "Sorry." Reyna stood and leaned back against the desk. "Well, Furlow, my scanner doesn't indicate any broken bones."

"Maybe it's broken, maybe it isn't, but it hurts like hezmana," Furlow offered.

"I can give you something for the pain and wrap it, for now. You probably shouldn't use it until we have access to a fully functioning medical facility where I can repair the damage."

Furlow sighed dramatically. "Well, frell. If I can't use it, I can't fly us from here to that other Leviathan." She held her hand up to Reyna. "Go ahead and wrap it and I'll take whatever you have for the pain."

Reyna gently pushed Furlow's hand back down. "I'll be right back." There was some clean toweling in one of the cabinets near the wash basin that should be adequate as a wrap…

"Reyna? Since I can't use this hand, why don't I take your watch? I'm sure Johnny can fly my ship easily enough; you can go over in my place. I won't be much use to them over there, anyway."

"Even one-handed, Furlow, you could still be useful on Kala. You certainly seem to know Leviathan mechanical systems…"

"That's true, but so does Johnny, probably better than me. And I don't know flitz about medical stuff. Leave acquisition of product and supplies to the experts, that's my motto."

Returning a few microts later with the clean toweling, Reyna tore it into strips and began to wrap Furlow's hand tightly enough for support, but loosely enough to avoid any further constriction of blood flow. "All right, Furlow, I'll take you up on that offer. Thank you."

XXX

"Dammit, where the hell is Furlow?" John asked, irritated by her absence probably more than he should be. He had thought he'd be the last one to the hangar, after falling asleep face down in his bunk, still wearing the EVA suit he had donned to help Tokar hook up the transfusion umbilical to Rohvu's underside. He'd awakened after who knew how long, disoriented, sure he had dreamed again, but with no memory of those dreams.

"Why the rush, Old Man?" Chiana cocked her head and turned those space black eyes on him, abandoning her conversation with Belima.

"Ah, never mind, Pip. I just thought I was late."

She laughed, the sound for once untainted by any of their recent unpleasant experiences. "It's not like we're on a schedule, Crichton."

"You're right. I should chill. I just…" _don't trust Furlow_, he thought, but said aloud, "I guess I'm anxious to get this over with."

Tokar came up behind him and slapped him on the shoulder hard enough to cause John an involuntary step forward. "Don't worry, John. Pilot assured me again, not an arn ago, that Kala's pilot actually wants us to do this. He thinks it'll help her to move on, if she feels that she's helping another Leviathan to live." The ex-Peacekeeper chuckled when John massaged his shoulder in mock pain.

John turned back to Chiana and Belima as Tokar disappeared up the ramp into Furlow's ship. "You got Reyna's grocery list, Chi?"

"Quit fussing, Old Man. I didn't forget it." She hit him with a patented Chiana smirk as she reached into the neckline of her tunic and, with deliberately teasing movements, pulled out Reyna's list. John tried to ignore the slight jump in his heart rate at the sight of her gloved hand reaching slowly between her breasts.

Laughing again, Chiana tucked the list back into its hiding place, turned, and, with a bounce in her step, boarded the Marauder knock-off. Belima, looking bewildered at the exchange, shrugged and followed the Nebari girl.

Shaking his head, John followed suit. On the one hand, it was good to see Pip acting less on edge, more like her old self for the first time in weeks. On the other, he thought he'd better broach the subject of that kiss with her soon…

"Coward," Harvey whispered in his ear before pushing past him. "Why don't you just take her up on her offer?" The neural clone plopped down onto the empty seat in the crew area, waggling his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. Ignoring him, John made his way to the front and sat in the co-pilot's seat. As he looked over the controls, labeled in standard Sebacean, he heard running footsteps pound up the ramp.

John swiveled the seat around, prepared to give Furlow crap not only for making them wait, but because he was in that kind of a mood, when the late arrival appeared at the top of the ramp. "You're not Furlow," he stated.

Reyna smiled as she drew to a stop next to her mate, yellow skirt swirling around Tokar's knees before settling into place below her own. She carried what appeared to be an empty sack slung over her shoulder, which she allowed to slip to the floor as she took the more-or-less vacant seat next to Tokar – after all, John was the only one who could see Harvey as he patted his lap in invitation, just before disappearing in a swirl of yellow smoke as Reyna sat.

"Well, no, I'm not," Reyna replied, strapping herself into her seat, completely unaware of the display John had just seen. "Furlow injured her hand. She shouldn't use it until I can properly see to it, so she offered to stay aboard Rohvu and take my turn at watch." When John just stared at her, her smile faded. "Is that a problem?"

"I don't know," he answered honestly. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard Harvey snickering. "I hope not." He switched to the pilot's seat, buckled himself in, and prepared for take off.

XXX

It would take maybe five minutes, tops, to basically jump the distance from Rohvu's hangar to Kala's. It would only take that long because John had to be careful not to disturb the umbilical. The thought of the makeshift umbilical cord prompted him to flick on the aft viewscreen to make sure that it was playing out behind them. Once docked, he and Tokar would take another space-walk and get it connected to Kala.

As the distance shrank between the ancient Leviathan and the small ship he piloted, John thought about what Furlow's change in their plans might mean. Unfortunately, he was the only one on board who had any prior experience of her and she had been nothing but helpful, if occasionally lazy, since she had joined their little group, even pulling their asses out of the fire back on the commerce station. She had never really done anything to harm him, either, but he just couldn't shake the gut feeling that she was up to something.

Without thinking about what he was doing, John brought the knock-off in line with Kala's hangar, growing ever larger in the forward viewscreen. The murmur of two conversations going on between the four people seated behind him drifted up to him, but he wasn't paying attention.

Something just didn't add up, and that worried him, but he couldn't put a finger on it. He'd mention it to Pip – she might not understand why he didn't trust Furlow, but she would still back him up if there was a problem when they got back to Rohvu. Reyna and Tokar were themselves still a bit of an unknown. They'd want to know why John didn't trust someone who, as far as they were concerned, was part of Rohvu's crew because of him and he really couldn't give them an answer.

As for Belima, she'd probably do whatever he or Chiana asked her to. This was her first time away from Rohvu in who knew how long. Chiana was to keep Belima under her wing while aboard Kala. He didn't think there'd be a problem with her, given that there wouldn't be any interaction with other people, but again, who knew? Bel was starting to come out of her shell, though, exploring more of her surroundings and expanding her vocabulary every day. _It might be entertaining to talk to her without the filter of the translator microbes_, he thought. With everyone on Rohvu teaching her new words and phrases, it had to be some weird mix of Nebari, Sebacean, and English. Nebaceanish?

Grinning to himself, John flipped a switch on the console. "Good morning, Kala's pilot. This is John Crichton, requesting permission to land."

"Greetings, John Crichton." The old pilot's voice was deep, resonant. "Permission granted. Would you like me to deploy Kala's docking web?"

"Yeah, Pilot, that'd be great. Thanks."

A few seconds later, John felt the ship slow as the docking web caught them and pulled them gradually into the ancient Leviathan.

XXX

Belima was the last to leave the small ship. She made her way cautiously down the ramp and gingerly set one foot on the deck of the strange/familiar ship – Chiana had explained to her in a mixture of gestures and old and new words that the one they called Rohvu was a ship and not the world, as Belima had come to believe. This new world – ship – was called Kala and was of the same type as Rohvu.

Placing her other foot deliberately on the deck, Belima looked around, drinking in her surroundings, the warm golden walls, the welcoming lights, the gentle touch of air moving lightly against her skin.

John and Tokar, in their black EVA suits, had moved to the back of the little ship in which they had all come here and were gathering together long tube things. Chiana said that they would be taking the tubes outside, where the EVA suits would keep the two men alive while they attached the ends of the tubes to this Kala. Somehow this was supposed to make Rohvu stop being sick. Belima didn't understand how this would work, but she trusted that Chiana was telling her the truth.

Reyna in her pretty yellow skirt was walking backwards, saying something to the others that Belima didn't catch. When she finished speaking, she turned and disappeared through a door that opened with a wave of her hand and remained open behind her.

"'Scuse me, Bel." Chiana startled her as she slipped past her and headed back up the ramp into the ship. Belima could hear her moving in the ship, but she quickly reappeared with a box of tools in her gloved hands, which she ran over to Tokar. Apparently, he had forgotten the things he needed to attach that tubing to Kala.

Taking several steps out into the enormous room, Belima spun around, trying to take in everything at once. It looked the same here as on Rohvu, but different. Cleaner and no scars or gouges. She watched as a small creature whirred its way through the still open door and headed toward her. She took an involuntary step back as it rapidly approached, its glowing eyes waving at her.

"John!" Belima shouted, frightened. She turned and started to bolt back into the relative safety of the small ship, but John grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Hey, ho, hey! It's okay, Bel. It's just a DRD."

She looked down at the little yellow creature and then back up into John's blue eyes. Blue eyes that were smiling, not unkindly. "DRD?"

"Diagnostic and repair drone. They help fix things."

Seeing that no one else was at all concerned by the appearance of the creature, Belima relaxed a bit. John released her arm. "You okay?" he asked.

"I…yes, I am okay." Her heart still thumping in her chest, Belima forced herself to crouch down and inspect the creature John called a DRD more closely. Realizing that it was a machine, rather than a creature, she relaxed further, accepting that there was nothing to be frightened of, after all.

"You be okay here with Pip while Tokar and I go out for a little walk?"

"Pip?" Belima looked up at him, puzzled at the word. She had heard him use it before, but she didn't know what it meant.

John smiled at her. "Chiana. 'Pip' is a nickname – just a name I call her."

Belima returned her attention to the DRD, patiently waiting in front of her. "Pip is Chiana," she repeated, reaching toward the DRD's arm, which appeared to be, in part, a spanner. "I will be okay here with Pip." She looked up and smiled back at him.

"Cool. Be back in a few." He jogged over to Tokar, who handed him an object that covered his head when he fastened it to his EVA suit, before the two of them disappeared past a hatch which closed behind them. Belima again looked at the DRD.

It waggled its eyestalks at her when she touched the spanner-arm. As she touched the tool, a memory hit her, so intense that it rocked her back on her heels. She abruptly sat down on the deck and just stared at the DRD, allowing the memory to wash over her.

_"Hey, Belima!" her friend Davi shouted as he ran over to her. Davi was a communications tech and rarely ever seen in the more hands-on areas of the Leviathan, such as the maintenance bay. Surprised to hear his voice here, she looked up from the DRD she had been repairing – its spanner-arm had been broken off when the new prisoner had been brought on board earlier that day. Someone had tripped over the little mechanoid trying to avoid an inadvertent contact with the creature they were transporting to a maximum-security facility for the criminally insane. Belima knew it was just a DRD, but she had seen it happen and had felt sorry for it, so…_

_Davi's voice interrupted her reflections. "I thought we were on for a game of linnet?" He stopped next to the workbench and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Or have you changed your mind?"_

_"Oh, Davi, I'm sorry! I completely forgot!" Full of contrition, cursing herself internally for being a colossal fool, she asked, "Am I too late?" She had been trying to gain the attention of the handsome comms tech for almost two monens, now, and she'd never forgive herself if she had just allowed a DRD to get in her way._

_"Of course you're not too late. Finish up that repair later." He gave her a lopsided grin. "Much later."_

"Belima?" She came back to the present when Chiana, all gray angles and curiosity, filled her vision, blotting out the memory as the Nebari crouched above the DRD, head cocked, looking at Belima.

"Chiana, I—" She didn't know the words for what had just happened, so she stopped talking and shrugged.

The Nebari girl grinned. "Who's your friend?" she asked as she surged to her feet and offered Belima a hand.

"It is…a DRD." She took the hand offered, allowing herself to be pulled back to her feet. "I do not know why it is here."

"Hey, Pilot?" Chiana asked, looking up. Belima couldn't see anything that Chiana might be talking to, but an image flickered into existence in response, confined to a frame that hung above a control console. It quickly resolved into the ghostly image of Pilot. But the voice, when he answered, was much deeper than Belima was used to.

"Yes, gentle guest? With what may I help you?"

Chiana grinned. "My name's Chiana, Pilot, and this is Belima." She waved a hand in Belima's general direction as she walked over closer to Pilot's image.

"I give you good greeting, Chiana and Belima."

"What's with the DRD?"

"Kala and I no longer have a full complement of drones, Chiana, but we have sent one of those that are available to assist you, if you find it necessary."

"Thanks, Pilot." She turned to Belima. "I don't…don't think we'll need any help until Crichton and Tokar get back. You wanna help me look around here, Bel?"

XXX

Tokar Rhee and John Crichton both stared at the red light in front of them, indicating that the airlock through which they would disembark for their spacewalk was still cycling. Crichton rocked impatiently – forward, back, toe, heel – and Tokar could hear the faint sound of a whistled tune through the open comms.

"What is that song, Crichton?"

"Hmm?" The Human stopped rocking. "It's called the 'Ride of the Valkyries.'"

The red light before them turned to green before he had a chance to expand on his answer. Almost simultaneously, both men turned to check again that their lifelines were secured to the rings installed in the bulkhead for just that purpose.

"Good to go?" Crichton queried.

Tokar nodded and Crichton opened the hatch, pushing out into space. Tokar watched for a microt as the Human turned toward the opening to the hangar deck to retrieve the ends of the umbilicals they had earlier tethered there.

As Crichton swam toward the umbilicals, which trailed out from the hangar deck toward Rohvu, Tokar used the handgrips on the outer surface of Kala's hull to "walk" his way to the connection point, where he would wait. Even though the area was considered to be the underside of the Leviathan, there was no true up or down in space, and so he sat "down" on the hull to watch Crichton, apparently upside down, swim toward him with the ends of the umbilicals.

"Gotta love zero grav, man," Crichton observed when he spotted the ex-Peacekeeper. Though his companion couldn't see it from that distance or through the faceplates of their helmets, Tokar grinned in agreement. He was rarely called upon for zero-gravity work for his unit, being primarily their weapons expert, but he always enjoyed the illusion of freedom that floating through space gave. There was an immediacy to it that was only rivaled by close combat and by sex.

A couple hundred microts later, he was working in tandem with Crichton to hook up four umbilicals to the appropriate ports underneath Kala. As had been demonstrated to him several times over the past few weekens, he and Crichton worked well together. Had they not been working in zero-gravity, the work would have gone much more quickly, as both were good with their hands, even with the interference of gloves. As it was, somewhat hampered by the slowed movements and the EVA suits, it took them almost half an arn to hook up and tighten all four umbilicals.

The work completed, they pulled themselves hand-over-hand up their lifelines toward the airlock and a reversal of the procedure followed earlier, this time sealing the airlock and pumping breathable air back into the small room. The green light indicating that atmosphere had been successfully restored came to life and Crichton opened the hatch back into the hangar.

Tokar stepped through the hatch, removing his helmet as he did so and ruffling his fingers through his hair. Crichton did much the same thing, causing his brown hair to stand on end.

"Pilot, if you and Kala are ready," Crichton said into the comms, "you can start that transfusion."


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Left Behind, Chapter 18**

John Crichton watched as the red ball bounced twice – once off the bulkhead and again off the deck – before heading back directly to his hand as if irresistibly drawn there by the force of gravity. He had found the ball on Kala, probably left behind by one of her passengers/crew decades ago, given the layer of dust that surrounded and covered it. Couldn't resist taking it back to Rohvu with him, though. He had been playing catch by himself for about twenty minutes, deliberately trying to make his mind a blank, but having little success. Thoughts chased round and round in his head like a German Shepard after a squirrel.

Furlow. Chiana. Aeryn. Moya. Furlow. Chiana. Aeryn. Moya.

As a nod to why he was here on Command with so little to distract him, John glanced at the failsafe indicator on the main console. The light was still green and steady. Just as the lights that now shone overhead were steady, if not green.

Rohvu had been gaining strength little by little for two solar days now, ever since the transfusion had begun. While he was still nowhere near full strength – that would take a couple of weeks yet, although he wouldn't be hooked up to Kala for much longer – he was strong enough that they no longer had to fumble around in the dark or worry about areas being closed off because of a lack of atmosphere. With the help of the DRDs salvaged from the two dead Leviathans and those donated to them by Kala and her Pilot, quite a few repairs and clean-up projects were well under way.

Which brought him to Moya. Ever since the rooms had been cleaned up and now that the lights had been restored, Rohvu reminded him more and more, at least physically, of Moya and of how much he missed her and the rest of his friends. Even Rohvu's little burbling sounds were similar in tone, if not regularity, to Moya's.

Thinking about Moya made him think about Aeryn. Not that he ever really stopped thinking about her – it just brought her to the forefront of his mind. It had been weeks since he had last seen her, heard her voice, smelled the unique scent that was Aeryn Sun. Weeks since he had met frelling Kaarvok and had, probably, been twinned. Was Aeryn even now with his twin, unaware that he – that John Crichton was also on another Leviathan light years away?

And that brought him to Chiana, also twinned. Also aboard Moya even as she was here aboard Rohvu. He thanked Zhaan's goddess that Chiana _was_ here with him as he really didn't want to start over again from scratch learning how to make friends and influence people in the Uncharted Territories.

He still hadn't talked to her about that kiss. Maybe Harvey was right… Maybe he was a coward. And maybe he was magnifying the whole thing way out of proportion. Pip wasn't treating him any differently now than she had when they were on Moya. She always had been and always would be a flirt.

Then there was Furlow. How did Furlow fit into all this? She didn't. She just didn't fit in this little soap opera that he called his life and the fact that she didn't fit made him think that she was going to bail soon and that somehow, someway, she was going to screw them all in the name of a healthy profit. He just couldn't see how, yet.

Bulkhead. Deck. Hand. Furlow. Chiana. Aeryn. Bulkhead. Deck. Hand. Moya. Furlow. Chiana. Bulkhead. Deck. Hand. Aeryn. Moya.

_Harvey_.

xxx

"Is this right, Tokar?" Belima handed a driver to the tall Sebacean, who was reaching up into the inner workings of the transport pod from directly beneath the hammond-side landing gear.

Brown eyes turned from the task at hand to look down at her. "Yeah, Belima," Tokar said as he reached down for the driver. "That's exactly the one I need."

They had been here on Kala for several arns, working at repairing the second transport pod that Kala and her Pilot had offered to them, having come here from Rohvu on the first, which had already been in a usable condition. Belima was pleased that Tokar had accepted her offer of help, which made her feel useful for the first time since— Her mind shied away from completing the thought as a shiver ran down her spine.

She looked up again to see Tokar's hand reaching down from the dark space above her head, holding out the driver she had just given him. "Spanner, please, Bel."

Belima took the driver from him and carefully returned it to its proper place in the tool kit, but the spanner he wanted wasn't where it should be. Before she had a chance to panic, though, something bumped her foot. The DRD that John called Thor held the missing spanner in one of its "hands" and she remembered that she had not been paying attention when she'd bent to put it away earlier; the tool had fallen to the floor and rolled away. Thor seemed to have rescued it for her.

There was what seemed to her a small army of DRDs in the hangar with them, although in truth there were only six of the little mechanoids. Thor was the only one helping them directly with fetching and carrying. The others swarmed over the transport pod, inside and out, performing the more routine repairs and maintenance that didn't require the imagination or intuition of Sebacean input.

Belima had a vague image from Before of a hangar that contained dozens of transport pods. This one only held the one they had arrived in and the one they were working on, but there was space for many more. Several of those spaces – Tokar had called them "berths" – held what looked like pieces of other pods, but nothing that could be used as anything other than spare parts.

Tokar withdrew from the area in which he worked and took a step back from the pod, wiping sweat from his brow and leaving behind a streak of grease. She thought there must be grease on his black shirt, as well, but couldn't tell for sure because of the color. "Well, Bel, I think that does it for the landing gear. We ought to be able to land without fear for our lives now." He grinned at her as he handed her the spanner.

She accepted the tool from him, replacing it in the kit. "Tokar? Why are there only two pods on Kala?" When she spoke slowly, as she did now, she was able to remember more words. "That is…too few."

"Kala is old and has been here waiting to die for monens. There wasn't any need for other pods. These last two were simply slower to decay than the others."

"The other pods died?"

"Not died, exactly. They were never really alive, not like Rohvu or Kala, here."

Belima looked down at Thor and then over at the other DRDs, still working busily away at their tasks. The transport pods were mostly machines with living parts, like their skin, but the DRDs were purely machines… "Why are there not more DRDs? They do not…dee-kay."

"No, they don't. I suppose Kala's crew probably transferred the DRDs to other ships. I'm guessing they had no use for a fleet of transport pods, though, so those were left here to rot." He shrugged and took the tool kit from her. "Pilot, Belima and are going to head back over to Rohvu."

"Would you like the DRDs to continue repairs, Officer Rhee?"

"That'd be great, Pilot. Thanks." He turned to Belima and gestured for her to precede him up the steps into the original transport pod. "Let's go home, Bel."

xxx

"Harvey, buddy, front and center!" John called, still bouncing the ball, his thoughts no longer chasing their own tails. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the neural clone, leaning against a wall, arms and ankles crossed.

"I'm not your servant, John, to be summoned at your whim." Harvey sounded a little irritated, but John noted that he had come when he was called, even so. He threw the ball at him.

"I need your help, Harv."

It was a bit disconcerting to watch Scorpius catch a child's toy and throw it back at him, initiating a game of catch. "Oh? _You_ need _my _assistance?" Harvey's blue eyes widened in a caricature of astonishment.

"Your whole reason for existence is to ferret stuff outta my head, right?"

Harvey's expression faded to thoughtful. "I suppose you could say that, yes." He caught the ball again as John threw it at him. "What did you have in mind?"

"Furlow."

"What about her?"

"What's she up to? You told me once not to trust her. Why? What set up the red flags?" Harvey had been playing to his own tune at the time, but there still must have been something that made him want to use caution where Furlow was concerned, given that he must have known already that John didn't trust the woman. The neural clone seemed to be able to access parts of his subconscious that John himself couldn't access… He threw up a hand to catch the ball Harvey tossed back to him.

"She's up to no good, I can tell you that."

"That's a given. Got any specifics?"

"Well, John, perhaps we should start with this: I think it was awfully convenient that she injured her hand just in time to be alone aboard this Leviathan." Harvey snagged the ball and reached around to toss it back at John in a classic Harlem Globetrotters, under the leg move. Pretty impressive, given the hindrance of the leather coat-tails…

John nodded as he reached to catch the ball, a little left of center. Harv's aim was askew thanks to the fancy moves. He tossed it back and said, "You think she may have sabotaged something? Pilot might not've noticed, given his lack of mobile eyes at the time." Now he had DRDs that could be set to monitoring Furlow's movements, but John felt that might be a case of closing the barn door after the horse had escaped.

"I think that's a good possibility, John." Rather than throwing the ball back to John, Harvey began to juggle, using two more identical balls that appeared from nowhere. His tongue protruded a bit between blackish lips as he concentrated on keeping the balls in the air.

John dropped into a chair and leaned back, lifting his legs up to prop his booted feet on the main console, keeping the green telltale in sight. While sabotage was a possibility, he thought theft was more likely, given Furlow's entrepreneurial nature. As Harvey juggled, now walking slowly around Command as he did so, John hit his comms.

"Pilot, would you please run a diagnostic on Rohvu's navigational and life support systems?" He'd have Pip check out the food, fuel, and other supplies with him when his watch was over.

"Is there anything wrong, John?"

"Nothing's wrong, as far as I know, Pilot, I just want to be safe." He frowned as an amber light began to flash on the console next to the telltale. An incoming transmission, but who knew they were here? He supposed it might be Kala's Pilot, but he had been communicating with them through their own Pilot, rather than directly, at least when they were aboard Rohvu. Dropping his feet to the floor, John reached over to stab at a button, allowing the transmission to come through.

"Attention, Leviathan Rohvu. I must speak with Tokar Rhee as soon as possible." The image of a Sebacean male solidified in the forward viewscreen, replacing Kala and her background of stars. The man was older, about John's father's age in appearance, with dark skin, peppered gray and black hair, and dark brown eyes.

Feeling vaguely like a receptionist, John replied, "Mr. Rhee isn't available right now. Can I take a message?"

"Who are you?"

John raised an eyebrow and said, "Who wants to know?"

The man nodded as if to say, _Fair enough_. "I am Donatri Rashov."

That last name was familiar – Tokar and Reyna had both mentioned him in connection with their "unit." "Tokar ought to be back in an arn or so. Leave me a number and I'll have him call you."

Rashov looked confused momentarily by the response, but, to give him credit, he said, "The frequency is being transmitted to your ship's computer. Your Pilot should be able to retrieve it. The matter is urgent."

"I'll make sure he knows."

Without another word, Rashov ended the transmission and the view returned to Kala and glittering, diamond-studded space. Harvey was nowhere to be found, but the red ball sat on the control console, kept from rolling to the floor by a pair of switches that, toggled as they were, held it in place.

"You know anything about this, Pilot?"

"Yes, John. I apologize. In all the activity of these past solar days, I had no chance to tell you that we intercepted a transmission that mentioned Reyna and Tokar while you were…exploring the first ship we found. With Furlow's and Kala's help, Rohvu and I were able to enhance the signal and send them our current location. Apparently, that signal reached its intended recipient."

"Apparently." John leaned back in the chair again, unconsciously bringing a thumb up to his lips. After a moment, he said, "Tokar? You read me?"

"Yes, John?"

"Just got a call for you from a guy name of Donatello Rashov."

"Donatri?"

"He needs to talk to you as soon as you're back. Says it's urgent."

"Thanks, John. We're on our way back now; be there in 200 microts. Are you in Command?"

"Yeah, Command." How the hell was this going to play into whatever plans Furlow was making, since it seemed she had known about this transmission stuff from the start?

xxx

As advertised, a few minutes later, Tokar entered Command, preceded by the sound of confident footsteps and creaking leather. By way of greeting, he said, "Did Rashov leave a comms frequency, Crichton?"

"Good to see you, too, man." The ex-Peacekeeper acknowledged the admonitory welcome with a wave and a lopsided grin as he pulled a chair over toward the main console. "Yeah, Pilot can retrieve it for you," John answered the initial question, reaching over to retrieve his ball.

"Pilot, would you please raise Donatri Rashov at the frequency he provided?" Tokar requested.

"Certainly, Tokar."

John threw a sharp look at the Sebacean. "This guy's in command of the unit you're trying to get back to," he stated. "Don't you want to talk to him in private?"

"Not necessary, Crichton. Besides, Reyna and I thought you two should be introduced."

"Tokar, I don't—" Pilot's voice cut him off.

"I have Donatri Rashov, Tokar Rhee."

"Put him up on the clamshell, please, Pilot."

The same grizzled, no-nonsense image came to flickering life, this time on the clamshell, as requested. Rashov looked surprised to see John there with Tokar. He frowned.

Tokar laughed in response. "Don't worry about John, Donatri. He's a friend." He turned to John. "John Crichton…" Gesturing toward the clamshell, he continued, "…meet Donatri Rashov, ex-Peacekeeper, Special Ops Division."

"Did you say John Crichton?"

"That's me," John responded, wondering if this was going to be another of those "infamous John Crichton, master-mind of crime" reactions that he had started getting more and more in recent months. He returned the steely gaze of the ex-PK commando cautiously.

"That's not possible." The man's tone was flat with skepticism.

"Oh? Well, hell, Sheriff, I've got my driver's license right here, somewhere…" He made an exaggerated show of searching for a wallet. "…says John Robert Crichton…"

Tokar shook his head and said, "What've you heard, Donatri?" He exchanged a look with John that said, _Humor him, for now_.

"John Crichton was reported less than a weeken ago on the other side of the galaxy from where you are now, accompanied by Captain Bialar Crais and Officer Aeryn Sun."

John felt Tokar's eyes on him and wondered what, if anything, Reyna had told him even as he felt the blood drain from his head. "You must be mistaken, Donatri. I can assure you _this_ is John Crichton," Tokar replied. The subject of the discussion barely heard him through the sudden ringing in his ears.

Rashov studied John through the medium of the clamshell. "Perhaps my intel was off," he conceded. "Renick was lucky enough to intercept a transmission from a retrieval squad that was sent to track down Crais and the gunship he stole from the Peacekeepers. It said that Crais was accompanied by the renegade Aeryn Sun and the Human John Crichton, as well as a Bannik and a Hynerian, otherwise unidentified."

"Stark and Rygel, no doubt," John said quietly. He closed his eyes, shutting off the sight of the flickering clamshell image and the thoughtful look on Rhee's face. _Dammit._ What the hell was happening with Moya and Talyn? A retrieval squad? That couldn't be good. And where were D'Argo and Jool in all this? And the other Chiana?

He opened his eyes. "What do you care about Crais and Talyn?"

"Talyn?"

"The gunship. His name is Talyn. He was named for Aeryn's father. Why are you interested in them?" He sounded hostile, even to himself.

Before answering, Rashov looked over to Tokar, who said nothing, but shrugged, neither encouraging or discouraging an answer on the older man's part. "Crais and his gunship have earned quite a reputation in the Uncharted Territories over the past few monens." He paused and apparently came to a decision about John before continuing. "We were trying to locate them to recruit them. That hasn't worked out, yet, because of the little matter of that retrieval squad."

"What are you guys? Mercenaries?"

"Not exactly, John," Tokar answered the question. "We're ex-Peacekeepers who are trying to be what the Peacekeepers _should_ be."

John turned to him. "You mean they're _not_ supposed to be a buncha fascists with a God complex?" He knew he sounded harsh, but _fuck_! It had just been confirmed for him, out of the blue, that not only had he definitely been twinned, but his frelling twin was with Aeryn. Not to mention allied with Crais…

He abruptly stood. "Tokar, man, you two go ahead and make whatever plans you wanna make. I have to take a walk." If Rhee was going to be here in Command anyway, he could just finish out John's watch. He slammed blindly out of Command, bitter and angry at the hand Fate had dealt him.

xxx

Crichton's abrupt departure startled Tokar. The man was obviously upset and it seemed to have something to do with the mention of Crais and Sun…

"What the frell was that about?"

"He's not usually like that, Donatri."

"You obviously wanted me to talk to him, Tokar. Why?"

Tokar turned his attention back to the clamshell from the open doorway through which Crichton had just disappeared. "Because I think he might be able to help us out, down the line."

"That man has never been a Peacekeeper."

"Well, no, he's not even Sebacean." He looked more sharply at his superior and friend. "When did you become an elitist?"

Rashov snorted. "You know better than that, Rhee. He doesn't have Peacekeeper training. If you want to recruit someone, better to find Crais or Officer Sun. Less work on our part to make them a functional part of the group."

"That's not necessarily true, but even if it were, Crichton can handle himself in a fire fight and he's pretty smart. So's his friend Chiana, but I suppose that's not important right now, though, is it?"

"No, it isn't." Returning to the original topic of conversation, or what would've been, had Tokar not involved Crichton, Rashov said, "We need you and Reyna back here, right away."

"You know that's not possible. We're too far away."

"Granted, you've got a good distance to travel, but if you can make it to Jindar, we can rendezvous with you there. That should be only a couple of solar days' hard travel from your current location."

"I don't think this Leviathan is well enough to travel that far."

"Then find another mode of transportation."

"Well, of course. Why didn't I think of that? Oh, that's right." He smacked himself on the forehead. "Because we're on a sick Leviathan that doesn't have any transport pods or Prowlers available."

"Lose the sarcasm, Rhee."

Tokar dropped his eyes for a microt. "Sorry." Then it hit him that he had been wrong – Rohvu did have two transport pods, one in good condition, the other usable. He looked back up at Rashov. "Maybe I can find another mode of transportation, after all."

xxx

Chiana woke feeling refreshed, for a change. She had slept well, having decided a nap was in order after a long day of DRD and pod repair, and now she was hungry. "Lights." At the sound of her voice, still a little gruff with sleep, the lights in her quarters came up to reveal a small chamber very much like her quarters on Moya, only not so cluttered. She hadn't had enough time or opportunity to accumulate much stuff.

Throwing the blankets off, she sprang from her bed and began to dress, intending to head to the center chamber and prepare last meal.

"Hey, Crichton? You hungry?" she commed, but got no response. She knew she had slept for a few arns, but she thought that it must still be his watch. "Crichton?"

"John has turned off his comms, Chiana," Pilot informed her apologetically.

"Why? Isn't he still on watch?" she asked, sitting on the edge of her bed to pull on her boots.

"Tokar Rhee is currently on watch."

"Did I…did I sleep that long, Pilot?"

"No, Chiana, Tokar has taken the last arn of John's watch. I'm afraid I don't know why."

"Do you know where Crichton is?"

"I do not."

A little worried now, Chiana lost some of her enthusiasm. It wasn't like Crichton to just disappear when he had responsibilities. _Think. If you were Crichton, where would you go?_ Normally, if something was bothering him, he'd take his module out for a run, even if there was nowhere to run to. With no module available, he might have taken the transport pod over to Kala, since it seemed that Tokar was back…

She stood. "Pilot? Did he…did Crichton take the transport pod anywhere?"

"No, Chiana. The pod is in the hangar. John has not left Rohvu."

"Thanks." If he didn't take the pod anywhere…

xxx

Less than two hundred microts later, Chiana found Crichton on Rohvu's observation deck. He sat huddled in on himself in the center of the huge room, his back to the doorway. The lights were down so that the beauty of the starfield that more or less surrounded him remained undiluted. The pale skin of his arms and the back of neck were the easiest parts of him to spot in the darkness of the room. He looked…vulnerable, arms wrapped around his knees, head resting on them.

"Crichton?" She didn't speak loudly, reluctant to disturb him, not knowing what had happened, but understanding that something had.

"Go 'way, Pip." He didn't move to look at her or even shift his position by so much as a dench.

"You okay, Old Man?"

"I don't want to talk right now, Pip…" There was a warning in his tone, which she, of course, chose to ignore.

Without another word, Chiana walked over and sat down next to him, mirroring his position, careful not to touch him. He didn't say anything and neither did she, they simply looked at each other as the stars swirled around them.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

A couple of arns after she and Crichton parted company, a bored Chiana found herself knee-deep in amnexus fluid, washing clothes. There hadn't been enough amnexus fluid for washing since they had come aboard Rohvu, so this was desperately needed, in spite of – or maybe even because of – the fact that they all had so few items of clothing between them. In addition to her own things, she had collected Crichton's spare shirt and underwear, purchased on the commerce station, from his room and then checked in with Belima, who had given her a few things as well.

Reyna had reminded her when she'd asked that she and Tokar had no spare clothing to wear while theirs was being washed. Chiana, in turn, had given her some helpful suggestions for later, when Reyna and Tokar could do their own laundry together, that would be much more fun than what Chiana was doing right now. She hadn't bothered to check with Furlow – she had never seen the woman in anything but her jumpsuit and if she wanted it washed, she could just do it herself.

As she squeezed the excess liquid from Crichton's spare shirt, his voice sounded over the comms. "Guys, meet me in the center chamber in a quarter arn."

"What's up, Crichton?" she commed back, draping the shirt over the edge of the pool and fishing out the next piece.

"Tokar has some news; I'll let him tell it." She could hear a slight snick after the last word that sounded like he might have turned off his comms. A quick, unanswered, "Crichton?" confirmed her suspicion. He wouldn't talk to her when she'd found him in the observatory, either, and for Crichton not to talk, it had to be pretty bad.

Chiana looked down at the liquid rippling just below her knees. Wonderful timing, as always. Leaning down, she fished out the rest of the clothing. There wasn't much, so it didn't take long to wring things out and lay them flat to dry. She'd come back for them later, after Crichton's meeting.

Once she had dried her legs and feet with the towel she had brought for just that purpose, Chiana put her boots back on and headed to the center chamber, curious as to what news Tokar might have that concerned everyone. She arrived in time to hear him say that he and Reyna would be returning to their unit in just a few arns, if they could get one of the transport pods adapted for long-range travel.

"You're…you're leaving?" she asked, stopping in the doorway without entering the room. She had started to get used to the group of people assembled on Rohvu and wasn't ready for them split off so soon, even though she had known that it would happen eventually.

"Yes, Chiana. We've made contact with our friends and we're needed with them in two solar days," Reyna answered her. "I'm sorry that it's such short notice."

"But, transport pods… They're not…not designed for long distances," she protested.

"No, they're not," Tokar said. "With John's and Furlow's help, though, I should be able to fit one out well enough that we can make it to our rendezvous."

Furlow, seated with her feet propped on the table, chimed in, "You're gonna need a better power generator than either of those pods has, if you don't want the hull to tear apart at the seams. Since you don't have the time for a complete overhaul, that is…"

"Shouldn't be a problem, Furlow," Crichton said from where he was leaning, arms crossed, one knee bent as he rested foot and shoulders against the refrigeration unit. "I already talked to Kala's Pilot about that and he's pretty sure she has one we can use."

"How's a new generator gonna help?" Chiana asked. She knew enough about transport pods to keep one running if she had to, but not enough to be able to change one into a long-range vehicle. She stepped the rest of the way into the room and sat at the table next to Belima, who appeared to be totally lost as to what was going on. Everyone was probably speaking too fast for her to follow the conversation.

Crichton pushed off from the refrigerator and began to pace restlessly. "A heftier generator will put up a heftier magnetic field. That'll hold the pod together for a longer time at higher speeds than trying to jury-rig modifications to the hull itself. It's not a perfect solution, but for the distance Tokar and Rey have to go, it should be enough." It seemed to Chiana that Crichton had spoken at length to the two of them and had already come up with some kind of a plan.

"Maybe," Furlow responded to Crichton's generator explanation, "but the pod probably won't be of much value after they get there."

"It doesn't have to be of _any_ value, Furlow." Tokar looked over to Reyna, seated across the table from him. "We need it to get us to our rendezvous point. Once we get there, we have other transportation arrangements already in place."

"Can you get this…this generator modified and installed that quickly?" Chiana asked, kind of hoping that someone would say no.

"Yeah, Pip, I think we can." Crichton flipped a chair around and sat next to Chiana, straddling the chair and resting his arms on the back. "We'll use the pod that's in the best shape so there won't have to be as many adjustments made."

"We can't ask for the best of the two, Crichton," Tokar objected. "Between the three of us," he nodded in turn at Crichton and Furlow, "we should be able to get the other one ready. The Hammond-side landing gear was the worst problem, and Belima and I fixed that earlier today."

"Nope. I'm not letting you guys take a substandard boat. We'll fix up the Queen Mary for you and keep the Minnow ourselves. You know damn well more than just the landing gear started to break down on that bad boy."

"I… I…" Chiana could think of nothing practical to say that might keep Tokar and Reyna from leaving them, so she settled for the truth. "I don't want you to go."

"Rohvu and I echo Chiana's sentiments," Pilot added. Chiana hadn't realized that they were listening in, but she supposed she should have – this would affect them at least as much as it would her and Crichton.

"I speak for both Tokar and myself when I say that we don't wish this to be a permanent parting," Reyna said, violet eyes traveling from Chiana to Belima to Crichton to Furlow.

"Well, that's all very touching," Furlow said, dropping her feet to the floor with a loud thud, "but it doesn't feed the grolchak. You wanna make it to your rendezvous, we'd better get working on that pod."

xxx

_The sooner you two are outta here_, Furlow thought, grunting with the effort of tightening a bolt on the generator, _the better it'll be for me_. She liked Tokar Rhee and Reyna Val well enough – they weren't bad, for Peacekeepers. _Ex-Peacekeepers_, she reminded herself. But once a Peacekeeper, always a Peacekeeper, which meant that they would probably try to take her wormhole engine design for themselves or their precious unit if she gave them the chance. Just like dear Johnny-boy would try to stop her in a heartbeat if he knew she planned to sell it all to the highest bidder at the earliest opportunity.

Furlow didn't give a flitz who bought the wormhole tech – Peacekeepers, Scarrans, Nebari, even Zenetan Pirates – they were all the same to her, so long as they paid cash, up front. Whoever gave her the best offer would get the rights to the tech, so long as they kept her on as a consultant. Royalties could be even more profitable in the long run than the initial sale.

"You done with that spanner yet, Furlow?" Crichton interrupted her thoughts.

With one last wrench on the tool to confirm the bolt was as tight as she could get it, she handed the long-handled spanner to the pretty, blue-eyed man. She liked John Crichton, too, but she sure wasn't going to let him stand between her and a healthy profit. The way he kept watching her, ever since she had injured her hand, told her that he either wanted her all to himself – not likely, given that skinny ex-Peacekeeper he had been with the last time she had run into him or the skinny little Nebari he was with this time – or he didn't trust her.

She flexed her hand, still showing signs of bruising but no longer bandaged, and decided that he probably just plain didn't trust her. She'd be hurt if it weren't for the fact that he _shouldn't_ trust her. Reviewing the steps she had already taken to ensure a quick escape, if needed, Furlow grinned to herself and climbed up the steps into the pod to test the connections she had just completed.

xxx

Chiana more or less kept up with Reyna as she went around the medical facility, giving her a brief overview of what each piece of equipment – whether it worked or not – was for and how to use it. Reyna was certain the girl was only taking in about half of what she said, but that was better than nothing. There were times that Chiana acted like a child, attention wandering from one thing to the next, and others when the Nebari girl was the most mature member of this little crew. She was also the most obvious choice to learn whatever Reyna could teach her in the short time they had available, given her quick mind and natural empathy.

Noting a look of impatience in those big, black eyes, Reyna asked, "Am I going too fast for you, Chiana?"

"No, not too fast." She blinked twice. "It's just…it's just that…" She shifted from one foot to the other and back again. "It's just that I know how to use the scanner and…and…and the stuff like antiseptics."

Reyna raised one brow, keeping her face in what she hoped was an encouraging expression. When Chiana didn't continue, she said, "It's just that I'm going over things you already know and you're losing interest."

"Well, yeah." She shrugged apologetically.

Reyna laughed. "Don't worry, Chiana, I'm not offended. I simply don't want to make any assumptions. What's obvious to me isn't always obvious to others, as Tokar frequently points out." Looking around at the med bay, she offered, "Why don't I just write down instructions for the most common things you may run into and you can look around and ask me about anything that isn't clear to you?"

"That'll work, Rey." She sounded relieved.

Chiana began to bounce around the room, popping her head into cupboards and closets and drawers as Reyna went over to her desk to write up instructions. About a hundred microts later, Chiana brought over a vial of powder and the first of several question-and-answer sessions began, though they were far fewer than Reyna had anticipated when she made her offer. And, from the questions she asked, the girl seemed to have a good grasp of what was what, which allowed Reyna to relax, no longer feeling as though she were abandoning these people who had become friends in so short a time.

xxx

"All right, Rhee, that's it. Cycle 'er up." John had completed the final internal connection between the new generator and the transport pod's engines. "Pilot, please run a check of the power levels on the transport pod."

He sat back on the floor and leaned his head against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him and allowing his eyes to close. It had been a long day, all things considered, and, if the power levels on the pod checked out, they were finished with the adaptations. Reyna and Rhee would be gone sooner, rather than later. The schedule the two of them had set was so tight they wouldn't even have time for more than a cursory goodbye.

Someone kicked his foot. He opened his eyes to the sight of Furlow standing over him. "Looks like we're finished here, flyboy."

"Looks like, but I'll hang onto the champagne 'til after Pilot confirms it."

As if on queue, Pilot reported, "Power levels are two hundred percent of normal, John, with no signs of strain."

"They only need to be a hundred sixty percent to keep things together at hetch nine for two solar days. Sounds like they have more than enough power to make their rendezvous." John watched Furlow as she spoke. Her words were innocent enough and her tone gave no indication of anything other than satisfaction in the work they had done – she was a mechanic, after all – but still, his hackles were up. The diagnostic he had requested earlier from Rohvu's Pilot had turned up nothing unusual in either Rohvu's life support or navigation systems. Instinct, pure and simple, told him there was something twitchier than usual about the woman.

"Yep, everything should be peachy." He reached a hand up. "Help me up, Furlow. I am dead dog tired."

With a strong grip, she hauled him to his feet. It was only after she released John that she seemed to realize she had used the supposedly injured hand, the one that had been so badly injured that she couldn't fly her own ship. He looked sharply at the hand in question. "Seems to be about healed up," he observed.

She made a fist and then relaxed it. "Yep. It's just about back to normal." She looked him straight in the eye and said, "I heal fast."

"That's a good trait to have."

"Yep. Sure is." Furlow turned away to head into the cockpit but then stopped. "Johnny…" She turned back toward him.

"Yeah?" he asked. He cocked his head to one side, concentrating on her facial expressions and body-language, still wondering what the hell it was about her that bothered him.

"Whaddya think about a partnership? You and me. Wormholes and engine design. We could go into business together and make a killing."

"You bet, Furlow. Wormholes 'R' Us." He shook his head and started to laugh, until he saw that she looked serious, so he swallowed the laughter and softened his flippant answer a bit by saying, "Lemme get back to you on that…"

xxx

_It's been one helluva day, Aeryn._

_ Who am I kidding? It's been a helluva few weeks. Months. Whatever._

_ Reyna and Tokar are gone, now, off to meet up with their unit. Tokar denied that they're mercenaries, but I don't know. He says they're a group of ex-PKs who are trying to be what the PKs are supposed to be, but it sounds a lot like a bunch of mercs to me, albeit mercs with ideals. Funny thing is, I think Tokar was about to ask me to join up with them. Even now, I think of myself more as a scientist than a soldier, but I guess the UTs have changed me more than I thought._

_ Well, mercs or not, I'm going to miss them both._

_ So now Pip and I are stuck here on Rohvu in the Sacred Leviathan Burial Space for a few more days, until R has recovered enough to be able to travel. Sure, he could leave right now, if the need arises, but he'd still only be operating at about half efficiency._

_ I think the poor guy is embarrassed and even more depressed than before, because of the suicide attempt. The failsafe we installed should be enough to keep it from happening again, especially now that Pilot can reach most of his controls. Pip and I talked it over with Pilot a little while ago and decided that we can stop standing a regular "suicide watch," because of Pilot's added reach and control. His arms are a little shaky, but their shell is hardening and the muscles are getting stronger every time he uses them._

_ Furlow's still hanging out with us, too. From the story her navigational charts tell, the Burial Space here is about two weeks from DamBaDa – too far for that Marauder knock-off of hers to make it without stopping for provisions. Or so she says. Besides, the agreement between us was for me to go with her to DamBaDa and help her finish building the Farscape Two. We're still working up blueprints for it and I've been hammering out wormhole equations that I think are on the right track. I won't know for sure until we get a chance to test them._

_ Furlow asked me to go into business with her, Aeryn. I told her I'd get back to her on that, but… No. Just no. The last thing in the world I want to do is go into the wormhole business with Furlow. Well, okay, maybe Scorpy is a step lower on my list, but you get the idea._

_ Huh, two potential job offers in one day… Am I good, or what? Soldier for hire or snake oil salesman… I'd rather not do anything but be with you, but I guess that's not an option anymore, is it? You're with John Crichton and Bialar Crais aboard Talyn and I might not ever know how or why that came about. The important part is, though, that you're with John Crichton and it ain't me._

_ Ah, it's late, Aeryn, and I don't even know what I'm writing anymore so I'll say good night. That powder Reyna gave me has been working out pretty well – I've been sleeping like a baby, these last few nights. She asked me to keep track of any "symptoms" I may notice, for when we hook up again, so I'll have to try to remember to do that. Assuming, of course, that we do meet again._

Done for the time being, John put the stylus and journal into the desk drawer. Rather than closing the drawer and going to bed, though, he stared at his journal, thinking. If Furlow was going to do something stupid, it would probably involve wormholes – she had been pretty rabid about them from the first time they'd met and now was no different.

Scorpius, too, wanted wormholes. He wanted them as a weapon. What if Furlow sold what she knew about wormholes to Scorpy? There certainly weren't any moral barriers to her doing so. And if she went to the Peacekeepers with what she knew, she _would_ end up with Scorpy, one way or another.

All of John's wormhole equations were in his journal, but Furlow wouldn't know that. She wouldn't expect the bulk of his work to exist anywhere but in Rohvu's data banks, certainly not as hand-written notes on flimsies. John laughed to himself as he took a data chip, popped it into the slot on the desk, and began to record.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Left Behind, Chapter 20**

Rounding a corner, Chiana smiled when she saw Crichton up ahead and shouted, "Hey, Crichton!" before she realized that Furlow was with him. Seeing the Human stop and turn, Chiana loped after him as Furlow disappeared into the corridor that would eventually take her to Rohvu's main hangar.

"What's up, Pip?" He shot a glance toward Furlow, who had stopped a couple of motras down the corridor to wait for him – Chiana thought they must be going to do some more work on either Furlow's ship or the remaining transport pod, which they had brought over from Kala when Reyna and Tokar left. There was a frown on Crichton's face when he turned back toward her that she couldn't interpret.

She skidded to a stop in front of him, still smiling. With a breathless laugh, she replied, "Nothing much, Old Man. Where…where're you going?"

"We're headed to the hangar for a little Wormhole 101," he said, confirming her initial guess. Crichton surprised the hezmana out of her a microt later when he pushed her in toward one of Rohvu's scarred ribs. He leaned in close with another sideways look toward Furlow and whispered in her ear, "Pip, do me a favor."

After a couple of shocked microts, Chiana nodded. She couldn't take her eyes off Crichton's and for another microt, she thought he might kiss her. Instead, he said, "Check out the fuel and food stores. I think Furlow is up to something."

With a quick intake of breath, starting to be able to think past his nearness, Chiana nodded again. Playing along with his apparent desire to keep Furlow's suspicions at bay, she cocked her head and reached up around Crichton's shoulders, pulling him in even closer. There was no longer any space separating them and she was gratified to hear his own sharp intake of breath and feel his pulse jump under her fingertips, resting against his neck. She nipped playfully at his lower lip before answering. "Anything you want, Crichton."

She laughed as she slipped away from him and watched as he rested his head for a microt against Rohvu's rib, eyes closed. It made her feel better when she saw the rueful smile stretch his lips just before he pushed away and turned back toward Furlow, still waiting patiently down the corridor.

Chiana waved at Furlow before retracing her steps. She didn't know what made Crichton think Furlow might be stealing food or fuel, but she'd collect Bel and the two of them would start going through their meager stores. There was an added bounce to her step as she headed for Belima's quarters, two tiers up.

xxx

_Okay, John, that might've been a mistake_, he thought as he walked away from Chiana, each step more than a little uncomfortable. He should've known better than to play that kind of game with her, but he had wanted to keep Furlow off guard when he asked Pip to check on things for him, not wanting her to catch on to his suspicions, and he couldn't think of a better way to throw her off track.

"Maybe you didn't _want_ to think of another way, John."

He threw Harvey a rude gesture as he rejoined Furlow, who was quiet the rest of the way to the hangar, where previously she had been outlining new ideas for the Farscape Two.

Unfortunately, Harvey didn't take the hint. "I think she's jealous of your pet Nebari," came the neural clone's voice next to his ear.

"Did I ask you?" John whispered back.

Furlow quickly brought him back to reality. "Did you say something, Johnny?"

"No, Furlow, I was, ah, just talking to myself, going over something Chiana said. Sorry." _Dammit, Harvey, just go away!_ She didn't pursue the slip further, seeming to be preoccupied with her own demons.

When he had headed to the center chamber for breakfast earlier, he had left the data chip he had recorded the night before in the terminal in his room. An hour or so later, he had returned to his quarters and found his journal still in the drawer and a data chip in the slot, but Furlow had commed him about working on the engine design before he'd had a chance to fire up the comp and see if it was his chip or a replacement. That comm was why he was here in the first place, giving him the opportunity to finally ask Chiana to check out their supplies.

_Man, I'm a suspicious bastard._ Harvey chose to remain silent on that one. It was always a possibility that his fears were groundless, but he didn't think so. Just in case, though, he was going to hold back on some things while he and Furlow worked.

xxx

Belima hadn't been in her quarters when Chiana had gotten there, so she had gone to talk to Pilot about Crichton's request. The DRD Crichton had dubbed Thor – she still hadn't gotten an explanation for that name – had gone with her when she'd left for the main storage hold and was here now, checking out the level of their water supply and comparing it to what it had been a few solar days ago.

According to the manifest that Pilot had printed out for her and taking into account the crate they had loaded onto the modded transport pod the day before for Tokar and Reyna, there should still be thirty-two crates of food cubes in main storage. Chiana only counted twenty-nine. There were three crates missing. She had counted the frelling things at least four times and each time came up short. "Well, frell me. Crichton was right… That…that tralk is stealing our food."

"Chiana," Pilot commed, his voice puzzled, "the DRD that is with you just reported that our fresh water supply is at least 13,000 cubic denches short." Chiana did a quick calculation in her head – that was over fifty gallets!

"We're short three crates of food cubes, too." She angrily slammed a fist down onto one of the remaining crates, ignoring the pain the blow caused. "How do Rohvu's fuel levels look?"

"I don't know, Chiana. Rohvu's propulsion system is directly linked with his calorics and the other fluids that he's currently taking in from Kala. The levels keep fluctuating, so I cannot get a definitive reading."

Furlow no doubt knew that they wouldn't be able to keep track of fuel right now because of the transfusions. "I'm gonna frelling kill 'er."

xxx

"What the hell?" John stopped short at the sight of what appeared to be the same type of generator they had just installed on the pod for Reyna and Tokar, only this one was in Furlow's Marauder knock-off. The two of them had been working on the blueprints for about an arn and he had done just what he was afraid he might do – zoned out on the math. Furlow wasn't there when he came out of it, equations written on his left arm and even on the table next to the flimsies, nor had she answered when he'd called out to her, so he'd gone to look for her. _Funny thing happened on the way to the exit ramp…_

"Crichton, you there?" Chiana commed.

He took a step closer to the generator. "Yeah, Pip, I'm here." This was definitely a modification that would allow the little ship to travel greater distances. DamBaDa was a two-week trip from here…

"Crichton, there's…there's both food and water missing."

"Dammit." So, the bitch _was_ planning to betray them. John went back to the table to grab the blueprints before heading down the ramp. He didn't know where Furlow was at the moment, but he thought it might be a good idea to destroy those blueprints. He ran for the waste disposer next to the workbench, where one of the reassembled and refitted DRDs was waiting, in need of only a power cell to get it back on line.

Opening the shoot to the disposer, he was about to deposit the plans for the Farscape Two that he had been working on so diligently for weeks, when he hesitated. He had enjoyed the work, and it had opened up a lot of the wormhole information the Ancients had hidden in his brain. He looked at the semi-crumpled sheets in his hand. _Maybe I can_—

Suddenly, his vision went white and then all the lights went out.

xxx

"I can't let you do that, Johnny." Furlow dropped the spanner she had just used on John Crichton's head. The man crumpled to the floor of the hangar more slowly than the spanner and with a lot less noise. Reaching down, she took the flimsies from his slack hand and the pulse pistol from its holster, noting in passing that the spanner had left a smear of red on the floor. She looked at him, face down, one arm flung out to the side, blood pooling on the back of his neck. She must've hit poor Johnny harder than she thought.

"Crichton?" his comms buzzed.

"Sorry, Chiana, our Johnny's asleep." She kicked him once to make sure he was out cold. "You shoulda taken me up on that partnership." Furlow shook her head with regret and pulled a device from one of the many pockets in her jumpsuit. She pushed a button on the remote which, if it worked the way she had programmed it, would lock the doors to the hangar and cut Pilot out of the loop so that he couldn't override the locks.

"Crichton, you there?"

Leaving John where he lay, Furlow hurried back to her ship. She wouldn't have much time to get away, even with her safety precautions. If it was only Belima to worry about, she wouldn't _be_ worried, but Chiana was not just smart, she was street smart. She probably knew all about picking locks, even electronic ones that were designed not to be picked.

She heard movement behind her, a scraping against the floor from the general direction of Crichton's body, a bump against something heavy. Rather than turning to see if it was him – what else _could_ it be? – Furlow broke into a full run back to her ship, dashing up the ramp just in time to avoid what sounded like a pulse blast.

She tossed Crichton's pistol onto the co-pilot's seat, dropped into the pilot's seat, and flipped her engines on, not bothering to strap herself in. Realizing that she still held the blueprints to Crichton's module and that she didn't have a good place to put them right now, she shifted a bit so she could sit on them. At least they wouldn't go flying around the ship, if things got rough.

A pounding started on the hatch and she could hear Johnny shouting something at her, although it was too muffled to hear what he was shouting. Probably nothing nice. A weird hissing sound started up in the vicinity of the hatch, too. She reached over and flipped on her external monitor which showed her a highly tinked John Crichton, pounding impotently on the hatch, and a not so impotent DRD in the process of cutting a hole in the hatch that would give Johnny a way in.

"Oh, frell it all, Johnny, I didn't want to have to do this…" Furlow hit a button on her remote and the view from the monitor suddenly changed. The blue DRD was sucked out the opening to the hangar, it's laser saw still trying to cut through a bulkhead that was no longer in reach. Crichton was holding onto one of the struts to her landing gear for all he was worth. The force of the venting atmosphere tore his grip free from the strut and he disappeared from her sight.

"Good bye, John Crichton." Furlow didn't want to see what happened to him, so she switched off the monitor and took her ship out into space.

xxx

With nothing better to do, Belima thought that she might look for John and see if he wanted any help repairing the remaining DRDs. The little yellow ones from Kala all worked well, but the red and blue ones from the other Leviathans, the dead ones, needed to be adapted to work with Rohvu's systems. When she had been unable to find him in his room or in the center chamber, she had gone looking for him on Command, but he wasn't there either.

Then it occurred to her that they all wore the pretty comms and that was what they were there for – to talk to each other when they weren't in the same room. She frequently left hers turned off, which was the case now, so she pulled it off her tunic and switched it on.

"John?" she said into her comms.

His response startled her. "Belima!" he shouted. "Stop Furlow!" She could barely hear him over a roaring sound in the background. Belima didn't know what to do.

"Chiana?" she commed, a little frantic.

Before Chiana could answer, though, Pilot spoke. "Chiana! Belima! The doors to the main hangar are locked and the atmosphere is being vented! I cannot shut it off!"

"Frell," Chiana's voice came to her from the comms. "Belima, run as fast as you can to the hangar. Crichton's in trouble."

"Where are you, Chiana?" Belima's voice shook with fear. She had gone from bored to terrified in the space of just a handful of microts as events suddenly spun out of control.

"I'm on my way to the hangar. Hurry!"

xxx

_God, I hate vacuum!_ John thought as he tried desperately to hold onto – hell, he didn't even know what he had hold of, only that it was keeping his sorry ass from being sucked out into space. Again.

He couldn't hear anything beyond the roar of the air venting out of the hangar. He hoped Belima had heard him and understood, hoped that she had gotten Pilot to lock down the outside access to the hangar so Furlow didn't get away… He could feel his vision start to go again as the oxygen became too thin for him to breath.

xxx

Chiana stopped her headlong dash into the hangar by slamming into the closed and locked door. She was so focused on getting to Crichton that she didn't even feel the impact. Belima was already there, trying to pry the door open, but with no success.

"Crichton!" Chiana shouted. No response. With a scream, she pulled her pulse pistol and fired at the door controls, which blew apart with a shower of sparks. Something must've come loose with the blast, as she could now feel air flowing past her and through a crack between the door and the jamb into the hangar.

"Belima, help me!" She shoved her fingers into the crack, scraping the skin from her knuckles, and began to pull at the door open with all her strength. Belima moved to do the same from a few denches below the spot Chiana gripped. Between the two of them, the door began to slowly swing open with a grinding of gears.

xxx

Pilot was beginning to panic at his inability to control anything in the hangar. It wasn't like before, when he simply couldn't reach his controls. No, this was deliberate sabotage by someone he had trusted. Furlow's betrayal shook him to his core – he had begun to think of her as his friend.

His internal monitors indicated that the atmosphere in the hangar was almost gone and that Furlow's ship was no longer on board. Another monitor showed him her ship's power signature as it sped away. Switching to visuals in the hangar, Pilot was appalled as he watched John Crichton pulled from the hangar toward open space – as soon as his grip on the ring that served as an attachment point for safety lines loosened, he would be gone.

As Pilot watched, helpless to do anything to save the Human, he saw the shimmer of the docking web as it moved into place at about the same time that John's grip gave way. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer of thanks to the Builders for all that had come to pass that allowed Rohvu the independence and the quick wit to make such a move on his own initiative, utterly amazed to realize that Kaarvok had managed to do some good for them after all. His short prayer finished, he set Rohvu's newly acquired DRDs to work at preventing the loss of any more atmosphere.

xxx

"Crichton!" Chiana shrieked in horror as he lost his grip on the tether ring in the wall. He appeared to be unconscious as he was torn from the hangar. Tears streaming down her face, Chiana turned to Belima. "Keep…keep the door open." Both women fought against the pull of the air, now rushing through the door into the still-venting hangar.

With a lightning survey of the hangar for a path that had enough obstacles to keep her from being sucked into space, too, Chiana dashed into the room, fighting to keep her feet. With a surge of relief, all too brief because of the still dire situation, she saw that Pilot must've been able to deploy the docking web – Crichton appeared to be hanging from nothing as the web pulled him slowly back into the hangar.

"Pilot, thank you," she cried. "Oh, Crichton, please… Please don't be dead." She was almost to him when suddenly the air stopped flowing. Debris, rather than funneling out the main hangar door, dropped or fluttered to the floor, depending on its weight. No longer fighting against the pull of the wind, Chiana stumbled, but then ran to Crichton, who now lay on the hangar floor like a child's discarded toy.

Belima came running into the room as Chiana dropped to her knees next to Crichton, gathering his limp body into her arms. There was no sign of life in his open blue eyes.

"NO!" she screamed. "No! I won't… I won't let you do this!" Chiana carefully, gently laid him down flat on the floor. "Belima, stay with him," she ordered as she stood. Eyes still on Crichton, she backed toward the doorway. Then she turned and ran for the med bay.

xxx

"Frell! Where is it?" _Think, Chiana, think!_ Reyna had cleaned things up and put things in what was, to her, a logical order, but that meant that nothing was where it had been that very first day, when the two of them had done an inventory. To compound the problem, new things had been recently added to the mix. That first day, they had found something that Reyna had called "kill shots and their antidotes" – it was the antidote that she frantically searched for now. It had to be here somewhere, but she couldn't frelling remember where it had been moved to.

There! In the back of the cupboard. With a leap, Chiana snatched two of the vials and dashed back to the hangar. She had no idea if this would work, but it was the only thing she had to try.

A hundred microts later, she slid into the hangar. Belima sat on the floor, her face wet from her own tears, Crichton's head resting in her lap, his sightless eyes staring toward the ceiling.

"Is he gone, Chiana?" she asked.

"He's not allowed to be dead, Bel." Chiana looked at the vial in her hand. The vial itself appeared to have a needle built right in, so all she had to do – she hoped – was stick it in him and push the plunger. Not knowing where to inject him, she decided to go for the spot where he had said his heart was.

She slammed the needle into Crichton's chest, through the black shirt he wore. "Live, you frellnik!"

Nothing happened, at first, and Chiana started to fumble with the second vial when Crichton abruptly threw himself from Belima's lap, coughing, wheezing, gasping for air, but very much alive. The force of his movement caused Chiana to sit back hard, sending her feet and legs out from under her.

"Chiana!" Belima shouted, her green eyes wide with wonder.

Crichton was on his hands and knees, body wracked by great, wrenching coughs. Chiana scrambled to his side, crawling the short distance. "Crichton?" She reached out to him and pulled him toward her as she knelt.

His coughing finally subsided and he seemed to become aware of her presence as he leaned into her. "Pip?" His pupils were so large there was only the barest hint of blue in his eyes as he stared at her.

Unblinking, he reached up to thread his fingers through her hair, his hands cold against her skin. She felt a shudder run through him as he whispered, "Oh, God," and pulled her into his arms, holding her as though he'd never let her go.


	21. Epilogue

**Left Behind, Epilogue**

John and Chiana lay next to each other under a canopy of stars, watching as they swirled and danced above and all around the bubble of Rohvu's observation deck. They had been there for a couple of hours as he told her what he'd learned from Donatri Rashov about the friends – the family – they had left behind.

She had listened while he talked, but said nothing herself. The only way he knew she felt as strongly about the news as he did was the wetness of her tears, soaking the shoulder that served her as a pillow.

After long minutes spent just listening to Rohvu's healthy burbling and their own breathing, Chiana broke the stillness that surrounded them. "So what…what do we do now?"

"I don't know, Chi. We'll unhook the umbilical from Rohvu and Kala tomorrow. Beyond that…?" He shrugged, her soft hair tickling his neck and arm.

"I…" she began, but didn't continue.

"What, Pip?"

"I…don't know if I…I can go back to Moya right now."

"Yeah…" John knew exactly what she meant. Knowing that there were other versions of themselves with Moya and Talyn, other versions that had gone on with their lives as though the two of them had never existed… Maybe someday they could return, but not right now. There was just too much pain.

"Crichton? Maybe we could…could look for my brother. We could look for Nerri."

He laughed, short and humorless. "You want us to hook up with the Nebari Resistance?"

"Maybe…"

"What the hell. We don't seem to have anything better to do right now, do we?"

She settled back against him again and they returned to watching the dance of the stars above.

xxx

About a solar day out from the Leviathan Burial Space, Furlow finally began to relax. There were no signs of pursuit, not that she had really expected any, so she decided to check out that data chip she had snurched from the comp in Crichton's quarters when he had been hot and heavy into the wormhole equations. The man hadn't even noticed when she'd left. At least, she didn't think he had.

She popped the chip into the reader, but instead of the mathematical equations and flowing lines of the Farscape Two design that she expected, a three-dimensional image of John Crichton in all his glory appeared.

"Hey, Furlow! I gotta wonder. Have you already noticed or is it just now occurring to you that you are so. Damn. Screwed?" His voice was cheerful and a big, dren-eating grin spread across his handsome face. "Yep, I'm bettin' it's just this very minute dawning on you that this little chip doesn't have jack to do with wormholes. Or the design for my module.

"You are screwed, bitch, and _so_ not in a good way." His voice took on a hard edge and the grin faded. "You shoulda left the data chip where it was, Furlow, and taken my journal instead. If you'da taken the journal, you'da had it all. The equations, the blueprints, the theories and ideas… But now? You don't have jack."

Furlow felt her blood begin to boil in her veins while she stared in disbelief at the reader as Johnny's image faded away.


End file.
